


As Many Words As It Takes

by TroglodyteMonologue



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Boy Keith (Voltron), Family, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Mistletoe, Misunderstandings, Or Is he?, Past Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Pining, Sheithmark 2021, Single Parents, Strangers to Lovers, Writer Shiro (Voltron), deadlines, fun cameos from the Paladins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29004429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TroglodyteMonologue/pseuds/TroglodyteMonologue
Summary: Journalist Takashi Shirogane is assigned to write an exposé on Keith Kogane, part-time son of aerospace mogul Dr. Krolia Kogane and part-time Bad Boy. Little does Shiro know that wrangling the so-called bad boy for interviews will turn out to be more than he bargained for — in more ways than one.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 177
Kudos: 190
Collections: Sheithmark 2021





	1. The First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Created in collaboration with @A_no_ba who made some wonderful art [here](https://twitter.com/A_no_ba/status/1354142497245712384)!!

“Shirogane, you are one of our best writers,” Iverson’s tinny voice says over the line. The bus’s back tire hits a pothole and Shiro gets a jolt that almost makes him drop his phone. Outside the half-fogged window, the crowded cityscape whizzes by in the haze of a mid-afternoon sun. “Hell, the best, in my opinion. You’ve cranked out some real good work for _The Garrison_. Some real hard hitting journalism. Some real tear jerkers. I’d vouch for you any day.” 

Shiro ticks his jaw, sensing the ‘but’ before his editor says it. 

“But everything you’ve put on my desk for the past five editions has been…” Iverson trails off with a groan.

Shiro tips his head back, eyeing the escape hatch on the ceiling. As if it would suddenly pop open at his will and help him run away from the conversation. “Nothing but back page fillers?” Shiro offers. This is a long time coming. He needs to be held accountable. And he’s an adult. So he can take a little constructive criticism.

“I was going to say fluffed up garbage. But sure, let’s go with that,” Iverson says and Shiro’s self confidence takes a full nosedive. 

“Look,” his editor eases, “I know you’ve gone through some personal stuff lately. I get it. I’ve had three failed marriages. Lost a house, two cars, and a dog. My life is like a damn country song without the tractor.”

Shiro sighs low, so Iverson can’t hear. 

It’s been seven months. Over half a year since his fiancé — ex fiancé — removed himself from Shiro’s life. In his opinion, things are more or less back to the normal before Adam. Except for Shiro’s drive and general sense of self worth.

And, if he’s being honest, Shiro loses a little sliver of his patience every time someone compares their situation to his own. He knows that’s how people connect and empathize, but he would rather they just say ‘sorry, that sucks’ and move on. Shiro would like to put his head down and forget. Bury himself in work or stiff upper lip it all the way to the next accomplishment that can maybe fill up the Adam shaped hole in his life. It seems easier than painfully sorting out his complicated feelings on love, abandonment, and lifetime commitments.

The bus jerks and brings Shiro back to the present.

“But you gotta give me _something_ ,” Iverson says. “You got some junior writers nipping at your heels and I don’t know how long I can fend them off.”

“I know,” Shiro says. He truly does. He’s chomping at the bit to do better.

“This is a _big_ assignment,” the editor reminds him for the umpteenth time. The name of Shiro’s bus stop flashes on the LED screen above. He stands, slings his messenger bag over his shoulder, and wobbles his way to the exit as the momentum of a sharp turn knocks him off balance. 

“I had to _literally_ wrestle it out of Sanda’s hands. Practically a match to the death. You pull through on this and you’re the Golden Boy of _The Garrison_ again. Because, hell, if we get the support of Marmora Industries because of this, the bigwigs might just boot me and put you in my place.”

Shiro forces a chuckle. He doesn’t genuinely laugh much anymore.

The doors open with a pressurized hiss and Shiro steps out onto the busy sidewalk, sucking in a mixture of diesel fumes and warm, downtown air. His eyes trail upward into the sky. 

A tower stretches up and over the patchy cloudline — a beacon even against the other skyscrapers in the city. At the very top, a futuristic lightning rod juts into the sky and all four sides of the building are lined with purple, hexagonally gridded, solar pane windows. They convey a kind of cosmic importance in comparison to the neighboring structures. In his research, Shiro read that the skyscraper runs on clean energy from those two features alone. It’s impressive, but expected from one of the world’s leading tech giants. 

Shiro has only ever seen it from afar. But up close, the landmark is beautiful, fascinating, and terrifying all at once. He grips his phone to his ear. He hasn’t been nervous for an interview in years.

Shiro’s eyes travel back down. The building’s name is displayed in sleek, chrome lettering just above the front entrance:

_MARMORA INDUSTRIES_

Iverson affects his serious tone, “So, Shirogane, whatever happens — whatever they want, whatever this _Keith Kogane_ guy is like in real life — you _have_ to make this happen.”

“Yes, sir,” Shiro says, eyes aimed forward, determined. 

“Good man. Call me when the meeting’s over,” the editor says.

Shiro pockets his phone and gathers his courage. He has tackled harder articles and infinitely more sensitive subjects. Shiro has handled every difficult notable in his path with grace and ease. He has no reason to believe Keith Kogane should be any different. It’s a puff piece with a little flair. He can do it.

The automated lobby doors slide open and Shiro crosses the threshold. The dark, polished floors squeak beneath his shoes. He tries to stay professional and not look like some wide-eyed rookie journalist, but the hyper modern interior is nothing like he’s seen before. The hologram displays, alien-like chandeliers, and metallic accents make Shiro feel like he’s stepped onto another planet. The awe on his face is probably laughable to everyone around him.

He dodges a few employees wearing outfits much more fashionable than his own and approaches a large, entryway desk. Beneath a large Marmora Industries logo, the brunette receptionist sits twirling in his chair. He isn’t so flippant to ignore Shiro, but rather, quickly acknowledges him with a nod and a smile before holding up a finger and speaking into his headset.

“Yeah. Yeah. Uh-huh. Sure. Cool. Sure. Will do. Thanks,” he says and clicks a button on the side of his earpiece. He looks up at Shiro with a wide grin and spins a pen between his fingers. “Sorry, ‘bout that. What can I do for ya, dude?” he asks, casual attitude starkly contrasting the mood of the lobby. But Shiro likes his spunk. 

“Hi, um — ” Shiro eyes the young man’s name tag, “Lance. I have a meeting with Krolia Kogane. 2:00 PM, Takashi Shirogane,” Shiro says, clutching the strap of his bag a little tighter.

Lance raises his eyebrows and taps his pen against the desk. “Meeting with the big boss,” he muses, impressed. He looks down at his computer and starts typing. “You must be mighty important.”

Shiro smiles, sheepishly. “Not really. Just a writer for _The Garrison_. I’m doing an interview with Dr. Kogane and her son.”

Lance’s fingers hesitate on the keys and he looks up, a pleasant smile turned to a grimace. “Her son? As in Keith Kogane?”

“Yeah,” Shiro nods, almost phrasing the word into a question.

“Oh, buddy, I do not envy you.”

Like the self-respecting journalist he is, Shiro spots an opportunity for a little outside digging — and Lance appears to be the chatty type. “That so?” is all Shiro has to say. In his line of work he has always found that less is more when it comes to questions and gentle prying.

Lance’s eyes dart around the lobby, hesitant. Then he leans in, pushes the microphone away from his mouth, and whispers, “That guy is a grade-A you-know-what.”

Shiro nods thoughtfully. “So his reputation precedes him?”

“I mean, they are _tabloids_ but — You’re a reporter, you know there’s some truth to them,” the receptionist says, making a balancing scale gesture with his hands. “I wasn’t here for the worst of it, ya know, but the old guard still talks. I’ve heard some crazy stories about fist fights in conference rooms and stealing planes and, like, bringing three girls to the company holiday party. General mayhem. And that’s just the stuff he _used_ to do.”

Shiro is going to have his work cut out for him. 

“Every time he comes through here — which isn’t often these days, thankfully — he’s got a chip the size of Mount Everest hanging off his shoulder. Got this ‘I’m-better-than-you’ air that just drives me up the wall.”

Shiro doesn’t notice the Galran woman until she’s looming behind Lance, arms crossed over her chest. For a woman of such a tall and well-built stature, she is surprisingly stealthy in her stilettos. Shiro recognizes her immediately from pictures and televised press conferences. But Krolia Kogane is even more intimidating in person. With her suit immaculately pressed and eyes sharp, she holds herself with a steel-like sureness, demanding attention and respect with just her presence. 

Lance either recognizes the surprise in Shiro’s eyes, or he senses Krolia’s powerful aura behind him because he freezes up and his narrative takes a turn. 

“And... that is why we’re _not_ inviting Tito Miguel to Thanksgiving,” Lance blurts, sweating.

“While I’m sure Mr. Shirogane enjoys your tales of holiday family drama, we do have a meeting, Mr. McClain,” Krolia says in an even tone. 

Lance spins in his seat and nervously feigns surprise. “Oh, Dr. Kogane, I had no idea you were there! I was just about to call your secretary — ”

“I wanted to greet Mr. Shirogane myself.” Whether she believes him or not, Krolia appears willing to let Lance’s faux pas slide for the moment. She turns her eyes on Shiro. “If you’ll follow me, please. Thank you for being timely.”

Shiro nods, unable to do or say anything else in the shadow of such a strong figure. He follows, as instructed, but briefly turns to smile at Lance while Krolia’s back is turned. He mimes wiping sweat from his brow. Lance beams and does the same.

The elevator ride is awkwardly quiet for Shiro, though Krolia doesn’t appear to mind the silence. They have passed the point of formal introductions. Shiro wonders if he should try and make up for it, bite the bullet, and offer his hand to shake. But before he can make up his mind, the elevator hits the 40th floor and the doors slide open. It’s the fastest lift he’s ever ridden.

Shiro trails Krolia through a long hallway to the very last door and it opens it to reveal a large conference room. A long gunmetal table, big enough for nearly thirty people to gather comfortably, stretches across the middle. But what really takes Shiro’s breath away is the view of the city. The floor to ceiling glass panes boast one of the best panoramic scenes Shiro has ever seen. He’s drawn to it like a moth to a flame. 

“This is incredible,” he says, looking out in awe. “My little office window just faces a brick wall. It’s great in the summer when it gets hot, but not so great for views and natural light.” 

Krolia grins. So, she can be taken off her guard. Or, she’s nicer than she looks. 

“It is one of the perks of working here, yes. I forget sometimes,” she says, pulling out the head chair and taking a seat. “Some people won’t even go near those windows.”

“Shame. I’ve never been afraid of heights.”

“Neither have I. Though I prefer the view from the sky.”

“A perk of being the CEO of an aerospace company?” Shiro asks.

“Precisely,” Krolia smiles and folds her hands. No more small talk, she is ready for business.

Shiro nods. He takes one more look at the skyline before setting his bag down in the nearest chair and taking out a notebook and a pen. “Will Keith be joining us?” Shiro asks, addressing the missing elephant in the room.

Krolia pulls in a sharp breath through her nose. “I’m sorry my son is running late,” she apologizes, a bit acidic. She leans back in her chair and crosses her legs. “He is — how shall I say this delicately — not looking forward to this.”

From what Shiro has heard through the grapevine, Iverson, and Lance the Receptionist, Krolia’s admission isn’t entirely surprising. But Shiro doesn’t let his face betray his thoughts and simply asks, “Why?”

“Because I will be using the article you write to convince my trustees and board that he is ready and fit to be the next CEO of this company. And he hasn’t come around to that idea just yet.”

Shiro’s eyebrows push up high on his forehead. He waits for Krolia to say ‘just kidding’ or for her to give any indication that she is being anything but sincere. But Krolia sits perfectly still, looking at Shiro with an open, if not mostly blank expression. 

“I’m sorry, could you run that by me one more time?” he asks, as politely as possible. “I was under the impression that I was to write a type of biographical publicity piece on your son to, um, sort of smooth out his image.”

“You are. Mostly. But I’m hoping that what you write has a greater effect than just smoothing out some old wrinkles,” Krolia says, “In a perfect world, your article would win over Keith, my board of ravenous trustees, the public, and I would be able to announce my retirement and Keith’s subsequent ascension at the Marmora holiday party this December.”

Shiro adjusts his glasses anxiously. The stakes are suddenly much higher than he anticipated. 

Krolia places her palms flat against the table. “ _That_ is a perfect world. And should that happen, I would be delighted. But let me be frank, I approached your editor with explicit instructions: to send me not only the best writer, but someone who has a good disposition. _The Garrison’s_ best ‘people person’, if you will. And I can tell just by the way you speak and hold yourself that he has held up his end of the deal.”

Shiro smiles, but the compliment feels a little damning. Like sending the best knight to slay an undefeated dragon, crossing fingers, and hoping for the best.

“Because I know my son can be rough around the edges. I know how he comes off to people. How he _wants_ himself to be perceived. I need someone to look deeper than what’s on the surface. Because he really is — ”

The door to the conference room _slams_ open and Shiro gets whiplash from how fast his head turns.

Standing in the doorway is Keith Kogane. He’s older than Shiro expects him to be. Because the dated paparazzi pictures Shiro found on Google led him to believe he would be interviewing a teenager. Keith is very much a man. A sharp chin, high cheekbones, and long legs kind of man who wears black jeans, a shirt torn at the neck, and a weathered, red leather jacket. His unruly black hair curls around his jawline and falls over the lapels of his jacket and a pair of sunglasses hide his eyes. He looks more ready for a street race than he does for a formal interview.

Shiro is struck dumb.

_Oh boy._

Keith stalks over to the table with an unapologetic, “Sorry I’m late.” He haphazardly tosses his sunglasses on the table and glances up at Shiro, who is pinned down by the fiercest violet eyes he’s ever seen. 

Keith regards the journalist with a shrewd, yet wholly unreadable expression. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem unimpressed. “You’re the writer?” he asks, gnawing on the chewing gum in his mouth.

Shiro gathers his wits about him, picks his metaphorical jaw off the floor, and offers his hand. “Yes. Takashi Shirogane. _Garrison Magazine_.”

Keith looks at Shiro’s outstretched palm and appears to make a conscious effort to reject it. Though, he does say, “Keith”, before sitting down in the chair directly across the table. Krolia sighs, audibly.

‘Indifferent’ would be an understatement. ‘Boorish’ would be too dramatic. ‘ _Prickly_ ’ suits Keith just right, Shiro thinks. Shiro smiles off his rebuffed handshake and takes his seat.

“Let’s get this over with,” Keith says.

Krolia clasps her hands and, with a terse impatience, replies, “I’m sure that’s what you would like.”

“I’d rather not be here at all.” Keith glances at Shiro. “No offense to you, personally.”

“None taken.” Shiro smiles, easy and good humored. Keith’s eyes linger before turning back to his mother. 

“This is going to take time, Keith,” Krolia chides.

Keith shrugs. “Well, I’ve got ten minutes before I have to go pick up Kai. So that’s what you’ve got to work with, Mr. Shirogane.”

The CEO’s jaw ticks. “I told you to make arrangements for that.” 

If they only have ten minutes, then there’s certainly no time for a family argument. So he interjects. “Shiro,” he offers, pleasantly, “You can just call me Shiro.”

It’s a peace offering; permission to have a more casual relationship — however brief it may be. But Keith appears to see right through Shiro’s tactics. He regards Shiro with a razor sharp gaze, making no move towards pretense like Shiro does. His shell stays firmly intact.

“Fine. _Shiro_ ,” Keith finally says. He checks his watch. “Nine minutes.”

“ _Keith_ ,” Krolia warns.

Iverson’s words echo in Shiro’s head: _Whatever happens — whatever they want, whatever this Keith Kogane guy is like in real life — you have to make this happen._

Shiro has to change his strategy. He has nine minutes to win Keith over so that he can get another nine minutes later when the bad boy is in a better mood. Or Shiro has nine minutes to get enough information for the most important exposé assignment of his life.

“Alright.” Shiro pulls in a deep breath. Without any more hesitation, he sets his cellphone on the table, pulls up the recording app, and taps the red ‘start’ button. He levels Keith with an even stare. “For the record, please state your name.”

“Keith Kogane.” The young man is unflinching.

“And how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Where were you born?”

“Daibazaal.”

“That doesn’t sound like a real place.”

“Well, it is. It’s a little town in the southwest.”

“Did you grow up there? In the desert?”

“Yes.”

“Did you like it?”

“Mostly. I don’t like the sand — ”

Shiro catches the hint of a joke, but does his best to hold back a smile.

“ — But I do like the freedom.”

“And when did you move to the city?”

“Thirteen or so.”

“And you’re still here now?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

“Sometimes.”

Shiro maintains his naturally pleasant demeanor. He stays level and focused; neutral in his reactions. But he does bite and clip his words, progressively speeding up the pace of his questions and remarks. Keith matches him.

“What do you like about it?”

“Diverse food choices. Milder weather. No sand.”

Shiro chuckles. “And what do you dislike about it?”

“Crowds. Traffic. The rat race.”

_Huh. Okay._

Shiro shifts gears.

“Do you have any siblings?”

“No.”

“What are your parents’ names?”

“Krolia and Tex Kogane.”

“Is your father still around?”

“No, he died when I was a kid.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes. I am,” Shiro softly insists. His sincerity strikes a chord with Keith and the young man misses a few beats. His jaw tenses and his eyes widen. And Shiro sees a crack in the shell.

His voice falters when he says, “That’s what you’re _supposed_ to say. Next question.”

Shiro shifts in his chair and nods. “Did you go to college?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“MIT.”

_Wow._

“What did you study?”

“Aeronautics and astronautics.”

_Double wow._

“What is your current occupation?”

“Between jobs.”

Shiro makes an abrupt shift to hard hitting questions. “And what makes you so hesitant to take the mantle of Marmora Industries?”

“I’m under qualified. I’m not a good leader. And I have no interest in being part of a corporate machine that has turned its back on its original principals for the sake of money,” Keith declares.

Keith’s honesty hits Shiro like a train. It’s like he pulled back a curtain — for just a moment — and showed Shiro something vulnerable and intensely passionate. And Keith has a look in his eye — a sparkle that he didn’t have before. There’s a story hiding there. Shiro just has to know how to dig for it.

Krolia reaches over and taps the ‘end record’ button on Shiro’s phone. “You can’t keep running away from your responsibilities,” she insists.

Keith crosses his arms and leans back. “Responsibilities you’ve decided to force on me.”

Shiro consciously backs out of the conversation for the moment. He senses an age-long debate. In his experience, observation is almost more important than actively engaging.

“You trained to do this. You’ve been a part of this company and its inner workings for years. You’ve had a hand in its success, why won’t you take any credit for that?” Krolia asks.

The young man balks. “For what? Messing around in the lab and accidentally getting a few things right in test flights?”

“You’re underselling and underestimating yourself.”

Keith turns his stinging gaze in Shiro’s direction, taking the journalist off guard. “Do you think I’d make a good CEO?”

“Oh, um, well I don’t think — That’s not really — ”

“Thank you. Your answer speaks volumes,” Keith says with a wry smile. In a panic, Shiro glances at Krolia. Thankfully, her wrathful expression is aimed at her son.

Keith stands and checks his watch. “And that’s ten minutes.” Like it’s an edict. 

He then levels his eyes at Shiro. Even when he’s being inexplicably rude and rough-around-the-edges, Shiro can’t help but be mesmerized by him. It isn’t just his looks (though that is a driving factor), but an indescribable and inherent gravity to his presence. It’s easy to see how Krolia and Keith are related. 

“I hope you got what you came for, Shiro,” he says. He swipes his sunglasses from the table, turns on his heel, and heads for the door.

“Keith, don’t you dare — ” Krolia seethes.

For a moment, it seems like Keith might listen. Because just as he presses a hand to the glass, he turns and looks over his shoulder. With the same honesty as before, Keith says, “It really isn’t anything personal.”

The young man walks out and shuts the door behind him.

_Well, that could’ve gone better._

Krolia and Shiro sit in awkward silence for a few long moments.

“Sorry about him,” she eventually says.

Shiro clicks his tongue. “Can’t say I really got enough for what you wanted.”

Krolia taps her pointed nails on the metal table. She has lost some of the decorum she had before and relaxes against the back of her chair. “He’s got attitude problems. I will be the first to admit that,” Krolia says, “But there is so much more to him than people can see. He’s brilliant and talented and kind. If people could see the real person, not the one he wants them to see or the one _they_ want to see…”

Shiro can’t help but wonder if Krolia sees Keith through motherly, rose tinted glasses. Because nothing about Keith’s adult tantrum was brilliant, talented, or kind. If Krolia is wrong about her son, then Shiro is in for a steep, uphill climb.

“He has a point you know. About this company,” Krolia confesses. 

Shiro has been told he has a non-judgemental, good listener type of face. Which is why so many people tell him things they probably shouldn’t. He should stop her but, as a writer, he is curious by nature.

“Marmora Industries is as productive and influential as ever but...it’s stifled now. It has lost its soul.” Krolia looks into the middle distance, somewhere deep in thought. “They say I’ve built an empire. And that’s true. But what I want is a legacy and Keith can get us back on track. He’s got the heart for it.”

Against Keith’s poor first impression, Shiro actually believes her. Because Shiro himself has caught a glimpse of what Krolia was talking about. It’s there — the story she and Iverson wants; the story Shiro needs. And Shiro is itching to get the words on the page. For the first time in a long while, he’s actually drawn to his subject. He likes the challenge. He _wants_ to know Keith’s story.

And Shiro has to admit, he wouldn’t mind seeing Keith again.


	2. The Second Interview

Because he wasn’t born yesterday and because he’s on to Keith’s strategy, Shiro anticipates Keith being late.

When he arrives at the cafe, Shiro takes off his jacket, rolls up his sleeves, loosens his tie — and settles in for a wait. He finds a small, round table nestled in the corner next to a window where he can watch the rain, passersby, and his fellow cafe visitors. He enjoys that — watching how people interact with friends and loved ones and overhearing conversations he shouldn’t. He quietly admires all the strings of twinkling lights and garlands of warm colored leaves and acorns hanging above his head. It’s a nice moment to himself.

But when he catches the couple next to him knocking knees beneath their table, it reminds him of Adam. He begins to consider moving seats when someone approaches his table. 

“Waiting on a date?” asks the server. He sets down a big, frothy mug of chestnut flavored coffee that Shiro ordered at the counter when he walked in.

Shiro looks up and is met with a big smile. The tall, filled out young man with big cheeks and a charmingly shaped nose wears a yellow apron smeared with flour, jam, and all sorts of pastry casualties. He seems the friendly and sociable type.

“Not exactly,” Shiro says, deciding to be a good sport in regards to the waiter’s prying. The man in the apron seems relatively harmless and neighborly. “Though I am waiting for somebody.”

The server taps the side of his nose with a wink. “Oh, I gotcha, I gotcha.”

Shiro notices the name ‘Hunk’ embroidered in cursive on the apron’s top pocket. He turns and looks at the large decal pressed on the window: _Hunk’s Corner_. 

“Are you _the_ Hunk? Is this _your_ corner?” Shiro asks.

Hunk puffs up proudly. “I am _indeed_. You’re sittin’ in the corner of my corner, friend! And between you and me, this is the best corner in my corner.” He laughs, big and hearty. Hunk’s laughter is so infectious, Shiro can’t help but crack a smile himself.

The cafe owner rests his hands on his hips. “Wave me down if you need anything, bud. I got this seasonal tart today — to _die_ for. It’s got honeyed figs and mascarpone, a little apricot jam, and a nice pecan, brown sugar crust — _ugh_ , I’m getting emotional just thinking about it. But lemme tell ya, if you wanna set the mood...that tart will set the _mood_.” Hunk wiggles his eyebrows.

Shiro nervously laughs. “I think I’m alright for now, thanks.”

Hunk shrugs and isn’t the slightest bit offended. “Your loss. Anyway, I’ll just be over there, making sugary-flakey-scrumptious masterpieces for more refined palettes,” he says, dramatically, before he walks away. Shiro thinks he needs to come to this cafe more often.

Each time the cafe door bell jingles, Shiro looks up. Every time, it isn’t Keith. But he has more than enough patience, and he knows Keith will show up. Krolia will make sure of it.

Shiro is halfway done with his coffee and two chapters into the random mystery novel he plucked from the cafe shelf behind him when Keith finally makes his appearance. 

The Marmora bad boy isn’t as collected as last time. In fact, he is sans umbrella, his hair and shoulders are almost soaked, and his body language is anxious as he looks around the cafe. Their eyes meet, Shiro waves, and Keith relaxes somewhat.

Keith may be a little disheveled, but there’s something gorgeous about his dark, wet locks.

“Sorry, I — Um — I didn’t actually mean to — ” Keith stammers out as he approaches the table. He runs his hands through his damp hair. 

Keith notices the book in Shiro’s hand. “Have you...been waiting long?”

“No, not too long,” Shiro says, gently. 

As Keith stands before him, Shiro notes a very different second impression. He hypothesized as much. Krolia’s presence put an extra stress on Keith and made him even less likely to cooperate. Furthermore, Keith is out of his element. They aren’t at Marmora tower, the rain has thrown him for a loop, _and_ he feels guilty for making Shiro wait. All the factors lean in Shiro’s favor. And as a writer who requires vulnerability from the people he interviews, it’s more than Shiro could have hoped for.

“Have a seat,” Shiro offers.

Keith shucks off his jacket and hangs it on the back of the chair before sitting down. Shiro sets the book aside and reaches into his bag for his notepad and pen. This time, he hopes for a chance to use them. Just in case, he sets his phone on the table for back up. 

“What are you reading?” Keith asks. The simple, friendly question shouldn’t take Shiro by surprise like it does. 

“Some mystery novel,” Shiro answers, twisting in his chair to carefully slide the book back on the shelf.

“Do you like mysteries?” Keith asks. 

_Is he actually trying to be nice?_

“Sure. If they pack a good twist at the end, I can get behind a good mystery. But I’m a sci-fi guy myself.”

“Really?” Keith scrunches his nose, skeptical. “You don’t really strike me as the type.”

“What, the glasses don’t immediately say ‘nerd’ to you?” Shiro asks, pushing his frames further up his nose with a fingertip. Is he flirting? If he is, he shouldn’t be. No, Shiro is just making pleasant conversation to get his prickly subject to warm up to him. That’s all this is.

Keith’s nervous mood breaks a little and he smiles; just a tiny, fraction of a grin but it’s even more charming than Shiro imagined. The dark haired man crosses his arms. But unlike his body language during their first meeting, it’s more for comfort than to shield and protect himself. “You just have this — I dunno. Not a sci-fi vibe.”

Over Keith’s shoulder, Hunk catches Shiro’s eye from behind the counter. The baker gives him a thumbs up and makes an expression that Shiro deciphers as ‘ _Nice catch_ ’. 

As if he has a sixth sense — or maybe because Shiro has a conspicuous lack of focus — Keith glances over his shoulder and finds Hunk looking their way. To cover up his obvious eavesdropping, the shop owner quickly hides his thumbs up and asks, in the friendliest tone possible, “Can I get you somethin’, buddy?”

“Um, sure, a black coffee would be great, thanks,” Keith answers.

And when Keith turns back to Shiro, Hunk makes a face. ‘ _Black coffee?_ ’ he mouths and makes a ‘so-so’ gesture to Shiro with the flat of his hand.

Shiro tries to ignore him and turns his attention back to Keith. “If I’m being honest, that particular mystery novel isn’t very good. I think it’s supposed to be a murder mystery. But I got thirty pages in and no one’s died yet.”

Keith raises his perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “Is a quick murder a requirement for mystery novels?”

“Within the first chapter is generally the rule of thumb,” Shiro says, “There are exceptions, of course. But now I think you’re just making idle chit-chat to avoid answering my questions.”

Keith shrugs, looking somewhat sheepish but not entirely remorseful. All things considered, their second meeting is going light years better than their first. Shiro is better prepared.

“Thank you,” the writer says with a kind of quiet honesty. Sincerity seemed to work on Keith the last time. “Thank you for coming. I know you don’t want to do this, so I’ll try to make it painless.”

“Well, you left me three really desperate sounding voicemails, so… And, despite what you and others may think about me, I’m not out to be mean,” Keith says. “You’re very persistent.”

“I prefer the term ‘dedicated’.”

“Seems like you have a lot riding on this article.”

“Maybe I do.”

The sharp, first impression Keith made before reappears. “If it’s money, I can just give it to you right now. You can tell my mom and your editor that you gave it a try, but I was just too difficult to work with. Then we can both just leave here happy.”

Shiro grins. “Bribery, huh?”

“I prefer the term ‘fair trade’.”

_He’s pretty and clever._

Shiro sighs thoughtfully and leans back in his chair, tapping his pen against the tabletop. “I’m afraid the article is what I’m after.”

Keith shrugs. “Worth a try. So... how many words will it take to get you off my back?”

“As many words as it takes,” Shiro answers.

There’s a sparkle in Keith’s eyes — the one Shiro imagined he saw before. His heart skips a beat. In some way, Shiro has won over some favor. It shouldn’t excite him as much as it does, but the little grin pulling at the corner of Keith’s mouth and his long eyelashes are just too captivating to ignore. They lock eyes just a moment too long.

Hunk appears beside their table in a flash, startling both of them.

“One black coffee. And one seasonal fig tart,” he announces. The baker places a steaming mug in front of Keith and a beautifully crafted pastry with two forks on the table’s center.

“That’s his,” Keith says, nodding to Shiro.

Shiro looks up at the cafe owner. The gesture is nice and well intentioned, but he’s just placed Shiro in a slightly precarious, slightly unprofessional position. “I, um, didn’t order that,” Shiro clarifies.

Hunk waves his hand. “On the house. I just got so carried away this morning. Caught up in the holiday spirit, I made a lot more goodies than I meant to. And you guys look like you’re about to settle into some sort of project. Best not to work on an empty stomach.” He’s jolly. He’s generous. He’s somewhat right. But Shiro really wished Hunk would have split the tart onto separate plates.

“Uh, thanks,” Keith says for the both of them. Hunk flits away, looking pleased with himself.

Surprisingly, Keith picks up a fork first, looking eager for a first bite. “Always feel bad when I get complimentary stuff considering I can always afford it,” he admits, “But I never want to accidentally insult someone by insisting to pay for it… Guess I can secretly put some money in the tip jar.”

A little stunned, Shiro watches Keith cut through the crumbling tart with the side of his fork. He takes a bite, chews thoughtfully, and raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t say anything in regards to the flavor, but he takes a second bite before picking up his mug and looking at Shiro over the brim.

“Well? Fire away, Shiro.”

Shiro starts where he left off: asking questions that the internet may be able to tell him, but ones he should verify for the sake of good journalism. It’s the facts and boring stuff. The exposition. But the foundation is important in the long run. Keith answers faithfully, slowly drinking his coffee as they both take small chunks out of the tart between them. 

Unfortunately, every time Shiro edges on something more serious or a topic Keith doesn’t seem to like, the dark haired man side steps his response. There’s a huge void in Keith’s latest years that he seems to be skirting. He gives Shiro approximately sixty-five percent. Passing, but not stellar. 

Shiro needs to knock it out of the park, not limp to first base.

After thirty minutes of heavy questioning, Shiro pushes the harder subjects. “You’ve been out of the public eye for nearly seven years, what have you — ” he stops short, noticing something out of the corner of his eye.

Unbothered by the rain on the window, a small child presses his face and one hand against the glass right beside them, flattening his nose and cheeks into one blob. He has the biggest, blue-gray doe eyes Shiro has ever seen. He thinks the incident will be fleeting — that a parent will quickly appear and pull their child away from the window with a noiseless apology. So Shiro waves at the boy with a big smile and enjoys the harmless interruption. The little boy jumps up and down with a big smile, smudging a vertical line against the window with his tiny nose.

Keith does a double take. “ _Kai?_ ” 

He stands immediately and makes for the cafe door. The little boy chases, watching Keith through the windows. A woman with flowing white hair trails quickly behind him, trying to catch up.

Shiro stands on instinct, lingering beside the table and ready to jump into action if needed — though he has no idea what for because he’s confounded by the situation himself. The little boy — named Kai, presumably — makes it to the cafe door first. He valiantly attempts to push the door open with one little hand, unable to use the other as it clutches something bulky to his chest. He struggles for a moment, until the woman behind him pushes the bar above his head.

The boy races inside and clings to Keith’s legs with a smile that could power the sun.

“Daddy!”

Shiro short circuits. 

Keith, young bad boy of Marmora Industries, is a father.

And Shiro proceeds to make the assumption that anyone would make: that the graceful, beautiful, Altean woman with white hair and kind eyes is the child’s mother and Keith’s partner. Shiro admittedly feels a pang of disappointment. It’s brief, because he didn’t delude himself to begin with, but the sting makes him feel a little foolish.

The woman shakes off her umbrella and talks with Keith while the boy… gets distracted by a glass case full of confectionary delights. 

Up on the tiptoes of his adorably small rain boots, the top shelf is just perfect for his height. Kai looks astonishingly like Keith. A messy mop of black locks sprinkled with raindrops sits atop his head and barely dusts the tops of his shoulders. His nose curls slightly at the end and when his mouth is at rest he looks very serious and thoughtful for a child his age. But he has nothing of the hard shell Keith has created around himself. Not yet, at least. Kai is wide eyed and open to the world. Shiro thinks he’s quite possibly the cutest child he’s ever seen.

Shiro wants a family. _They_ had wanted a family. Adam was more particular about how children would come about in their lives, but Shiro didn’t care. He would love his child no matter the circumstances. He just wants to be a father. He wanted a lot of things with Adam. He had planned it all out in his head. A perfect life. Then, it all fell apart.

When Shiro snaps out of his trance, Kai is suddenly standing right in front of him. The writer startles. Children can be so sneaky sometimes. The boy holds an action figure to his chest with both arms as he looks Shiro up and down. Surprisingly, he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by Shiro’s intimidating height and build. If anything, Kai seems in awe.

“Hello there,” Shiro says. He kneels so Kai doesn’t have to crane his neck.

“Are you interviewing Daddy?” Kai asks, taking his time getting a big word like ‘interviewing’ out of his mouth.

“Yes, I am. My name is Shiro,” he introduces himself with a smile. 

“My name is Kai. I’m five.”

“Five is a great age.”

“How old are you?”

“Much older than five.”

“Kai, don’t go around asking adults how old they are,” Keith gently chides, approaching with the woman at his shoulder. His demeanor is softer than before; brow less furrowed. The presence of his son has clearly melted his disposition. And because Shiro is a sucker, the dad factor makes him like Keith just a little bit more.

“I really do apologize for the intrusion,” the woman says, addressing Shiro directly. She has a mature, pleasant voice. “But something has come up with my family and I have to drop Kai off with Keith. It is rather unexpected.”

“It’s alright, Allura,” Keith says. “This is Shiro, he’s the journalist that’s doing that article my mom wants.”

Allura offers her hand and Shiro shakes it. “Nice to meet you.”

“A pleasure. I hope Keith hasn’t been causing you too much trouble,” she says.

Shiro glances at Keith. “A moderate amount.”

Keith smiles at the ground.

Shiro knows there is a good chance Keith will use Kai to get out of the meeting early, like he did before. It’s a wrench in Shiro’s plans, but Kai’s sudden appearance presents a new opportunity: mining data from a very close, innocently candid source. 

Allura touches Keith’s shoulder. “I promise I’ll make it up to you,” she says before crouching down and quickly hugging Kai. “And I’ll make it up to you too. We’ll go to the park soon. When it isn’t raining cats and dogs.”

Kai nods but, like in true child-like fashion, he’s already moved on to the next development. He drags an unoccupied chair from another table to theirs, gracelessly takes off his little backpack, and starts rifling through it. Very self-efficient for a five year old.

“Alright, I’m off,” Allura says, walking backwards as she waves with both her hands. “Both of you: be good!”

Kai climbs up in the chair, legs folded underneath him so he has more height, and waves, “Bye bye, Miss Allura!”

No kiss or hug goodbye. And ‘Miss Allura’, not ‘Mom’. Shiro keeps his lightbulb moment to himself — the jury is still out. 

Shiro resettles in his chair, watching as Kai takes out a small stack paper and a handful of crayons. It’s obvious to Shiro that he’s had to join in on other meetings with Keith before and knows the drill. Shiro turns his attention across the table to Keith.

“You planned for this to happen,” Shiro lightly accuses.

Keith holds up his hands, insisting his innocence. “Pure coincidence.”

“You know, usually, when someone talks about themselves, it’s pretty common to mention whether or not they have kids.”

“You never asked.” Keith’s retort and amused eyes slice off a big chunk of Shiro’s patience.

“Daddy, you didn’t talk about me?” Kai’s little voice interjects. He has paused his coloring efforts and his big, expectant eyes are turned on Keith. The young father suddenly flounders. Shiro can’t help but enjoy the way Keith’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as he tries to come up with an excuse. 

“Why?” Kai asks. He isn’t sad, just genuinely confused.

“Well, it’s just — You see I — ”

Shiro throws him a bone. “It’s because he wanted _me_ to interview you, Kai.” A look passes between them. The dark haired man’s expression is somewhere between ‘ _thank you_ ’ and ‘ _alright fine, you win_ ’. 

Kai goes bright eyed and bushy-tailed. “Really?”

“Yeah. He wanted you to answer some questions.”

“Okay.” From the focused look on the child’s face, Shiro has one hundred and ten percent of Kai’s attention.

“Wow, if only every person was this eager to be interviewed,” Shiro says to himself as he readies his pen and a new notebook page. Keith crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.

Shiro decides to give Kai the full interview treatment. Just for the fun of it. “For the record, what is your full name?”

“Kai Yorak Kogane.” Every syllable sounds very important.

“How old are you, _exactly_?”

“Five years old and — ” Kai looks at the ceiling and counts on his fingers. “ — three months and four days old.”

“What is your favorite color?”

“Red.” He responds with a level of ferocity Shiro has never seen from an adult; as if this is a test rather than an interview and he’s excited he knows all the answers.

“What is your favorite animal?”

“Bengal tiger.” 

_Specific._

“What is your favorite food?”

“Pepperoni pizza.”

“What do you want to be when you’re older?”

“Astronaut.”

“Why do you love your daddy?”

Realizing Shiro had no intention of crossing any boundaries, Keith had relaxed into his chair and enjoyed the back and forth. Now, his shoulders are tense. It’s a harmless question and, as adults, they know kids are likely to say the strangest answers. But he’s anxious.

Kai looks down at the table, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. “Because…Because…” He’s taking the question very seriously and Shiro let’s him take his time. Then, Kai looks up at Shiro with the most determined expression he’s ever seen. “Because he’s a good person.”

Shiro isn’t a pessimist but he knows that kids are supposed to blindly love their parents. It’s part of the innocence of childhood — to see a father or mother as a hero figure. But Kai’s answer is less like a cute child’s answer and more like a declaration, an insistence that Shiro see Keith the same way. Because it's the truth and nothing but the truth.

Keith melts a little in his seat.

“That’s a very good answer,” Shiro finally says, shaking his pen in Kai’s direction, “That’s definitely going in my story.”

Kai looks like he’s about to burst from excitement. “Really?” he asks, “Okay, my turn!”

“Your turn?” Shiro asks, genuinely confused.

“I’ll interview you.”

Keith only half hides his glee behind a hand. It’s his biggest smile to date. Shiro feels his heart flutter. In the back of his mind, he thinks it’s very possible he’s fallen just a little bit in love with the father-son duo. Because he knows he should just wave Kai off, tell him they need to get back to work, and continue talking to Keith so he can get his story written in time. But Shiro… kind of doesn’t care. For the first time in a long time, he’s enjoying himself.

“Alright, give it your best shot, Reporter Kai,” Shiro says.

“What’s your name?” the little boy asks.

“Takashi Shirogane.”

Kai pulls a fresh sheet of paper from his stack, takes a blue crayon, and makes a horizontal squiggly line across the page. He doesn’t know how to write just yet, but he’s taking notes.

_Oh my god, he’s cute._

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“What’s your favorite animal?”

“A dog.”

Kai looks at him, mildly annoyed. “What _kind_ of dog?”

“Oh, um. German shepherd.”

Kai approves with a nod and makes another squiggly line. He leans over to whisper his next question, “Are you secretly a superhero?”

Feeling particularly playful, Shiro leans forward and whispers, “If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a secret anymore, would it?”

Kai sits back with narrowed, suspicious eyes, nodding slowly. Shiro wonders what prompted such a question and he gets his answer a moment later.

“Daddy thinks you look like Clark Kent,” Kai says, plainly.

Keith startles. “Kai — ”

Shiro interrupts before Keith can stop his son. “Who’s Clark Kent?”

Kai takes the action figure he’s kept propped between his knees and presents it to Shiro. “Clark Kent! Superman!” The figurine is indeed Superman, complete with blue tights and red cape. Shiro knows who Clark Kent is; he just never expected to be compared to him.

Shiro’s eyes slide up to Keith, who is doing his best to hide his embarrassment and only partially succeeding. He doesn’t know which he likes more: the fact that Keith thinks he looks like a beefy, superhero man or the fact that Keith told his son about Shiro after just one meeting. Either way, it’s a compliment and a half.

Keith explains, “It’s because you’re a journalist. That’s his alter ego. You’ve got the tie and the glasses and, you know. And you’re kind of — ” He generally motions with his hands. “ — You know. You look like you work out.”

“I do,” Shiro says. With more free time on his hands and a plummeting sense of self confidence, Shiro has been visiting the gym more often. He thought it was unattractive to keep wearing shirts that were too snug on his arms. Apparently not.

Shiro doesn’t know what to make of the couple moments of silence that follow. Keith sits on the edge of his seat, fidgety. And Shiro doesn’t know how to break back into what they’re _supposed_ to be doing. He quiets the sudden hope bouncing around in his head and reminds himself to stay professional. Strangely calm, Kai looks back and forth between the two.

“I, um, just remembered,” Keith suddenly announces, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, “There’s something we have to get back to at home. Remember, Kai? That project?” It’s a bold faced lie and Keith is a fool to expect a five year old to pick up on the subtlety of his suggestion. Shiro expects as much, so he’s not going to fight it. But he does give Keith a judgemental look through the whole act.

“What project?” asks Kai.

“You know, _the project_. C’mon, pack up your stuff. We gotta go,” Keith says.

“But I wanna stay with Shiro.”

Keith stands and shimmies his coat back on his shoulders. “Shiro has work of his own. He has to start writing.”

The little boy sighs with his whole body. “Okay,” he says, and gathers his papers, crayons, and action figure. He pulls his backpack on and looks at Shiro. “I’ll interview you more later, ‘kay?” 

Shiro smiles. “Sounds good.” He challenges Keith with his eyes. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Keith’s guilt peeks through again as he licks his lips and averts his eyes to the floor. But Shiro knows the hard part is over. He’s won Keith over, mostly, and now Keith’s _son_ — a very shocking development in the enigma that is Keith Kogane — is invested in the situation. Keith won’t be able to ignore Shiro if he tries.

Keith pulls out his wallet from his coat pocket and places a twenty dollar bill on the table — more than enough to cover both their drinks plus tip. A flicker of doubt passes through Shiro when Keith starts counting out more bills. If he tries to buy Shiro off, then the meeting hasn’t been as successful as he thought. But instead, Keith folds the extra bills up tight and keeps them in his hand.

“Thanks, I guess,” Keith says, “For making this relatively painless. And, uh, keep in touch for our next session.” He seems sincere; his mouth turned into the smallest of smiles.

_I’ll take it._

Shiro leans back in his chair with a pleasant grin. “Yeah, will do.” He offers up a palm to Kai. The little boy gives him a high five without question. “I’ll see you later too, bud.”

“Bye bye, Shiro!” he chirps. Shiro will be moderately heartbroken if he doesn’t get to see Kai again.

Shiro watches the pair walk toward the cafe’s front door hand in hand. Keith quietly says something to his son and the miniature version of him nods. They stop at the cash register. Hunk greets them with a smile and Keith asks a question, pointing to something on the chalk menu above. Just as Hunk turns, Keith passes the small wad of bills to Kai. He lifts the boy up and Kai tucks the large amount of money in the tip jar between smaller, crumpled bills where it can’t be seen. Keith sets Kai down, appears to thank Hunk for his answer, and the father and son huddle toward the front door like they’ve just pulled the best of pranks on someone.

Glancing at Shiro, Keith places a finger to his lips. And then, he’s gone — leaving Shiro with a few pages of notes, two empty mugs, a plate of crumbs, and a troublesome warm feeling in his chest.

“Soooo, how did it go?” Hunk asks, sidling up to the table to retrieve the used dishes.

Shiro nods. “It went very well.”

“The tart does it every time.”


	3. The Fourth(ish) Interview

It takes a lot to make Shiro upset. He’s the mild mannered and level headed sort, but when he drives up to a small airstrip just outside of the city, he’s _steaming_.

While Keith is the main source of his anger, there are a few other contributors. Like the four very aggressive emails from Iverson reiterating the importance of the article and its rapidly approaching deadline. Then, an afternoon call from Adam. Which seemed to have two motives: to ask whether Shiro had seen an old shirt of his, and to pick a petty fight. But the final straw was waiting an hour for Keith in one of Marmora Industries’ conference rooms. Just sitting, alone, watching the time tick by like some rejected date.

Shiro has learned that consistent contact with Keith is near impossible. It is a miracle that a time and place was set for the second and third meetings at all. So, upon being utterly slighted, Shiro decides to take matters into his own hands and calls on Krolia.

“Tomorrow, without a doubt, he’ll be at the Altea Airstrip. He always sets aside the first Wednesday of every month for at least one flight hour,” Krolia tells him over the phone.

Maybe that’s what actually pushes Shiro off the ledge: the fact that Keith failed to mention he was a pilot. 

On the other side of a chain link fence and a little way across the tarmac sits a small, sleek aircraft. The hotrod red underbelly and tail stand out against the concrete, but a streak of black across the middle and a white hood keep the aircraft from looking too ostentatious. Keith appears, walking around the nose with a short woman in an earthy green jumpsuit at his side — a mechanic perhaps. With wind-swept hair, a leather jacket, and leaning one fingerless gloved hand on a wing, Keith looks cooler than he ever has before.

But Shiro puts aside his crush for the time being. He’s a man on a mission.

Shiro steps out and the loud slam of the car door gets both Keith and the mechanic’s attention. Even from afar, Shiro can see Keith’s pretty eyes go wide. The journalist passes through the fence’s gate and closes the distance, hard-soled shoes hitting the ground with purpose.

“I know you really don’t want to have anything to do with me,” he says, approaching quickly so Keith can’t run away. “But after how well our meeting went last time, I didn’t expect you to stand me up.”

Shiro holds himself tall, almost cornering Keith between the plane’s wing and body. The mechanic looks twice as alarmed. With round rimmed glasses the size of teacup saucers, a bushy ponytail, and a youthful, freckled face, she is not the stereotypical image of an aviation mechanic. But the intelligent gleam in her eye almost dares Shiro to say anything against her. 

“W-What?” Keith stammers out.

The mechanic groans, letting her head lull to one side. “Oh geez, Keith. What did you do this time?” she asks with a frustrated familiarity. She isn’t just Keith’s mechanic, Shiro notes. They are clearly friends. 

“You could’ve at least called,” Shiro says.

“You didn’t even call?” the mechanic gapes, taking Shiro’s side rather quickly.

“Hold on just a second.” Keith holds up his hands in defense.

The mechanic places her hands at her waist. “If you’re gonna be CEO you can’t go standing up dates, Keith. That’s bad publicity. One bad opinion from a slighted lover on social media can tank you.” Shiro feels his ears go warm.

“It wasn’t a date!” Keith defends. He wipes his hands over his face. “Ugh, that receptionist guy is useless. I told him to tell you that I couldn’t make it. Clearly, he didn’t.”

Shiro rolls his eyes. “Don’t keep making excuses.”

“I’m telling the truth, Shiro. I wouldn’t do that to you,” Keith swears. 

And because he’s a sucker, Shiro actually believes him. When Keith’s brow is set just so and his tone is genuine, Shiro’s resolve dwindles a little. But then Keith says, “We’ll reschedule for sometime this week. I’ve made arrangements to log flight hours and the guys in the tower get touchy if I change things last minute.” He turns his back on Shiro to open the hatch on the side of the plane, pulling down a small set of stairs. 

Shiro’s momentary lapse in judgement dissolves.

Shiro rounds the other side of the open port as Keith tries to escape into the plane. “No way. You are not going to keep — ” But Keith ducks down and disappears into the jet anyway. Shiro breathes in deep, suppressing his urge to just let him have it.

“Oh, wait a second. You’re — ” the mechanic leans against the aircraft’s body opposite Shiro and calls through the open door, “ — is he Clark Kent?”

From inside the jet Shiro hears a small, “I’m going to kill you, Pidge.” 

“You are!” Pidge beams, pleased as punch. “Wow, you’re even bigger than he described.”

Shiro feels like he’s playing catch up. Like he’s been the center of a big inside joke for some time and he’s just barely figuring it out. Because there’s no way Keith could be talking about him to his friends because he’s interested. No way. Shiro waves the thought to the back of his mind. The article. He’s here for the article. He climbs the first few steps of the plane and pokes his head through the open door.

The inside cabin is surprisingly narrow, with just enough room for a pilot, co-pilot, and three passengers. The interior is modern and accented with polished, black burlwood and leather. Keith sits in the pilot’s chair, his focus on the array of digital screens in front of him. It’s a very intimidating display of graphs, long numbers, buttons, and switches.

“Keith, I have your mother and my editor _breathing down my neck_ for a rough draft,” Shiro says, so desperate to get his attention that he has his elbows and arms on the cabin floor. “And basically all I have are bullet points and half the timeline of your life. You have to give me something more. I am _begging_ you.”

Keith stalls. He slumps back against his chair and sighs. Shiro can hear the gears turning in his head. With each push and each meeting, Keith is getting easier to read. His fingers fidget against the armrest.

“Alright,” Keith says, “Get in the plane.”

“What?”

The young heir turns in his seat and levels Shiro with a look. “You want another interview? Get in the plane,” he reiterates. 

Shiro blinks a few times.

He needs his story and he’d be a bold faced liar if he said he didn’t want to fly with Keith at the helm. Just to see what it would be like. But it’s so spontaneous, so self-indulgent, that his logical, responsible brain stops him. 

“I can’t just _do_ that,” Shiro says. It’s the dumbest excuse he’s ever given for anything.

“Why? You got somewhere to be?” Keith asks. A small grin pulls at the corners of his mouth, daring. Shiro is hanging halfway out the door but he feels a little cornered. The tables have turned.

“No, but I — I don’t know — ” 

“I’ve got a perfect record. I’m not some two-bit pilot.”

“It’s not that — Can we just talk on the ground — ”

“Wow, so you _can_ lose your cool. I didn’t think it was possible,” Keith laughs, amused. He lifts an arm rest and turns his body more toward Shiro. “Or are you scared of heights?”

“No.”

“Then. Get. In. The jet.” Keith picks up a headset sitting in the co-pilot’s seat and offers it out to Shiro. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Keith smiles and Shiro falls a little more. How could he not? A beautiful, youthful, intelligent, rebel pilot is asking him to go on an adventure; the modern equivalent of a magic carpet ride. It’s as if Keith has stepped out of Shiro’s teenage fantasies. He never stood a chance. 

“Fine,” Shiro says. He picks himself up, scales the small flight of steps, and has to duck when standing inside the plane. He shimmies between the two front seats and sits to Keith’s right, taking the headset from his hand. The sight of the console and the big windows makes his heart race. He’s never been in a plane cockpit before, but he’s always wanted to.

_What am I doing? What the hell am I doing?_

Shiro turns to Keith and with a firm tone says, “But you’ve got to answer everything I ask. No skirting around questions or conveniently forgetting important details.”

The pilot licks his lips and returns to his pre-flight tasks. “Deal. Just let me get to 10,000 feet before you start grilling me.” His hands move so naturally over the controls, like it’s second nature. He moves to each check and task seamlessly whereas Shiro can’t even begin to comprehend the information each screen or what each toggle and button does. But Keith seems to know it inside and out, like it’s as simple as making a cup of coffee.

When he’s finished, Keith peers out the open door. “We’re good to go, Pidge. See you in an hour or so.”

“Roger, roger,” Pidge says with a salute. She pulls up the bottom half of the door hatch and leans on the edge to give Shiro a thumbs up. “Don’t worry. He hasn’t killed anyone. Yet.”

Shiro half-heartedly returns the thumbs up just as Keith is shoving the mechanics head out of the door. He pulls down the top half of the hatch, locks it in place, and it seals shut.

_No going back now._

Keith hesitates, glancing nervously at Shiro. It’s surprisingly intimate. The cockpit is a small space and they practically brush shoulders whenever either of them move. Shiro can see the flecks of gray in Keith’s eyes and the reddish undertone of his black hair whenever the sun hits just right.

Keith pulls on his headset, adjusts the microphone, and flips a switch. “Altea Control, this is Voltron K10.”

Shiro pulls on his own headset and hears a light static over the line before, “Voltron K10, Altea Control, good afternoon, identified.”

“Altea, add passenger to Voltron K10 flight log. Name: Takashi Shirogane. Read back,” Keith says.

There’s a sigh on the other side and a begrudging, “Voltron K10, add passenger Takashi Shirogane. Request granted.”

“Thank you, Altea. Voltron K10 ready for departure.”

As they taxi to the runway with Keith communicating with ground control every step of the way, Shiro feels like he’s seeing yet another face of Keith Kogane. First, Keith the impetuous son and corporate heir. Then, Keith the young father and charming but slightly awkward coffee date. And now, Keith the skilled and focused pilot who seems to follow the rules to a T. Really, Shiro feels a kind of whiplash. Each time he thinks he has a handle on the silhouette of Keith’s person, it changes shape right before his eyes. Every layer scraped away shows a new color, each one brighter than the next.

When the engines of the jet begin to roar for take off, Shiro feels a rush of energy thrum through his body. Every time he travels in a plane he feels it. The weightlessness in his stomach. The pressure of being pushed down in his chair as the nose of the plane tilts up toward the sky. But this time, it really is just sky. Not the slanted world below, with buildings and trees shrinking to a miniature size as he watches from a passenger window. The horizon disappears and the view through the front windshield is nothing but vibrant blue sky and fluffy white clouds. Shiro thinks maybe he missed his true calling.

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro can see Keith smiling. His eyes are bright, loving every second of the climb.

As they reach a cruising altitude, Keith starts to even out the plane, and Shiro feels it in his stomach. The sensation is more intense and immediate in a smaller, lightweight aircraft. On instinct, Shiro’s hands reach out for something to steady himself on. His right hand lands on a handle built into the side. His left, on Keith’s leg.

The touch startles both of them, but Keith more so. The plane lurches. 

Shiro pulls his hand back almost immediately. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Keith says. His voice is hollow and higher pitched over the comms system. “Good thing I’m an expert, otherwise we might’ve taken a nosedive.” It’s a joke, clearly, but the possibility that Shiro almost killed them both because he got a little too excited really sticks. The last thing he needs is to accidentally cause the death of Krolia Kogane’s son. 

“You sure you aren’t afraid of heights?” Keith asks, keeping his eyes on the horizon. Shiro can tell they are still rising steadily as the clouds glance off the wings of the plane.

“The opposite really,” Shiro smiles. He’s all but forgotten about his earlier anger with Keith. “I really like it. Always liked flying better than driving, to be honest.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, my ex always said if I wasn’t so busy with work I might be an adrenaline junkie,” Shiro says. Regret sinks in a second later when Keith doesn’t immediately respond. Shiro looks straight ahead at another plane in the distance. It’s unprofessional to mention his personal life when he is on assignment. Shiro knows that. But he forgot himself for a moment. 

“Your ex, huh?” Keith says thoughtfully.

“Yeah, but that’s, uh, not what we’re going to talk about,” Shiro deflects. He pulls his ever handy pen and pad of paper from his pocket and flips to a blank page. He doubles down on his resolve. “I ask the questions and you give the answers at 10,000 feet. That was our deal.”

“That was the deal,” Keith nods. Even though he keeps his eyes either focused ahead or scanning the screens on the console, Shiro can tell he’s got Keith’s attention. Despite their unorthodox interview setting, Shiro really likes the fact that Keith can’t run away from him.

“How long have you been a pilot?”

“Mm, I’ve been licensed since I was eighteen,” Keith says, “I could fly before I could drive. Legally anyway. Mom had a chauffeur for me back then. More like a keeper.”

The rich lead such different lives.

“And why’d you want to learn to fly?”

“What little boy doesn’t dream of flying? Used to turn my bed into a plane all the time. I just happened to be born into a family that has the funds to make a childhood dream a reality. And Marmora is in the aerospace business.”

At least he’s self aware.

“You fly often?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” Keith admits, “At first, it became a way to escape. Don’t have to answer my phone. I don’t have to think about anything but my heading. No one can touch me up here. I could go wherever I wanted at almost any time. Wings are the ultimate freedom.”

The poetic, rather profound answer stuns Shiro for a moment. “Never thought of it that way,” he says, “So, is this what you want to do, instead of being CEO?”

Keith goes quiet; pensive even. His eyes shift in a way that Shiro can see that he’s sorting out his words; what he’s willing to tell Shiro and what he would rather keep for himself. Finally, Keith says, “At the cafe, you were going to ask me what I’ve been doing. Since I sort of went off the map.”

It isn’t the question Shiro just asked, but it is an answer he has been dying to know. And if Keith is ready to say, then he’s willing to listen. “Yes?”

“Before Kai, I was volunteering as a pilot doing humanitarian work full time.” 

Shiro’s head goes blank, he looks up at Keith’s profile. “You what?”

“Kind of hate that term. ‘Humanitarian’. Makes me sound like some sort of saint. But you’re not the only one I’ve surprised,” Keith grins. “But yeah, after I finished school there was this push for me to go to Marmora Industries right out the gate. They wanted me to take over a whole department and I didn’t want the responsibility. So I took my plane and just...left.”

Keith evens out the jet and they cruise, the underbelly of the aircraft just grazing over the top of a cloud bank. The view is spectacular, but Shiro can barely focus on it.

“There are a hundred organizations out there for volunteer pilots. Animal rescue, medical supply transportation, patient transportation, disaster relief — people always need help. And I figured, if I had the means, then I needed to do my part.”

“What did you do, exactly?” Shiro asks. 

“All of it,” Keith says, “The easier stuff at first. Shorter flights and things with longer timetables. It was a way to occupy my time. But then I got invested. With every person I helped and every remote town I went to, I realized the good I could do if I just devoted myself to it. So, I started working with disaster relief. Big planes can’t make it out to a lot of rural places. Or places where there isn’t much of a runway. I’d bring people to hospitals. I’d go into dangerous zones and deliver supplies. I’d wake up to an emergency call in the middle of the night and fly into a storm without a single thought. It got kind of addicting, to be honest.”

“What was? The flying?”

“No, not just the adrenaline but… the feeling. Of doing something good. Something important.”

The new development has Shiro reeling; like cupid has struck him through the heart with the most potent arrow in his quiver. Shiro’s pen is still in his hand, nib pressed against the paper but no words are inked across the page. He sits back in his seat, mouth agape, and says, “You are nothing like what I expected, Keith.”

A shy, but pleased expression flits across Keith’s features. “I always give off a pretty rotten first impression,” he says, making a self-deprecating joke instead of taking the compliment gracefully.

Shiro chuckles. “So I’m guessing you stopped flying when Allura and Kai came around.”

Keith’s brows knit together. “Allura?” he asks. Realization breaks across his face. “Oh, no, no. Allura isn’t Kai’s mother. She’s just a friend. Her father and my mother have been good friends for years. Comes from a long line of ambassadors and diplomats. That’s why she had to drop Kai off early — probably some imminent political disaster.”

_Oh crap._

“Ah, I’m sorry. I sort of just assumed — ”

“No, it’s fine. I figured we’d… get to this topic eventually. Since you’re wanting the full story,” Keith says, mood dropping exponentially. But he isn’t sad — not truly. Just wistful. His hands tighten on the joystick. 

“Her name was Axca. She was a pilot too. Very focused and well-respected in our circles. Dedicated. Good heart. We met while scouring some mountains looking for missing hikers. And after we found the hikers, it sort of went from there. We had a lot in common at the time and it made sense — me and her. Two people living very nomadic, somewhat dangerous lives. I don’t think either of us thought it would last. Kai was a bit of a surprise.”

“But we decided to give it a go. We loved each other in our own ways and I don’t regret anything…” Keith says, like he’s trying to explain himself. “And then one night, she got stuck in a bad storm, lost control of her craft, and went down. Kai was barely a year old. He doesn’t remember her.”

The air in the cabin is heavy. Shiro has dealt with many people in mourning in his line of work, but Keith’s story hits hard. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, but it’s okay,” Keith says and seems to mean it. He has a strong pragmatic streak that has probably saved him a lot of heartache. “We knew the risk. She went doing what she loved. It’s all we can ask for in the end.”

Shiro nods, slowly. He should ask another question to keep himself from wallowing in empathy for Keith and Kai’s distant loss, but he’s forgotten his train of thought.

Keith breaks the silence, “I shared my tragic ex story, now you have to share yours.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“C’mon. Off the record.”

Shiro fiddles with his pad of paper and pen. He hasn’t spoken about Adam to anyone in what feels like an age. He isn’t sure if opening that old wound in front of someone who is supposed to be a client is the best idea. But Keith is disarming like this and, up in the sky, it feels like the things down on earth matter less.

“His name was Adam. _Is_ Adam. He’s still alive. And he was my fiancé,” Shiro says, keeping it short and sweet.

“And what happened there?” Keith asks, not a hint of judgement.

“He...didn’t like how much I worked. He wanted me to step back and take less stories. Go freelance so that maybe, when we had kids then I’d be around more but...I wanted to do more.” Shiro really needs to stop talking but the can is fully open and the worms are already crawling everywhere. “I want a family but I just didn’t want to do things his way. I thought we would work it out. Have it all, you know. I thought we were perfect.”

“Nothing’s ever perfect.”

“Yeah, guess so,” Shiro says. Adam was supposed to be perfect. Their lives were supposed to be perfect. Shiro is supposed to be perfect.

An awkward silence follows and Shiro thinks he’s gone and crossed a line. He flips through his notebook for no other reason than to occupy his hands. Keith adjusts a few things on the console and his hand steadies the joystick. And then he asks, “What would you do if you could do anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you could do anything you wanted — whatever it was he didn’t want you to do — what would it be?” Keith asks, as if it’s so simple.

“I can’t just do _anything_ ,” Shiro responds, a little exasperated.

“I think that’s part of the problem. You’re holding yourself back.”

“I don’t really have a bad boy attitude, a plane, and a billion dollars, Keith,” Shiro combats. He pinches the bridge of his nose between his eyes, knocking his glasses awry. “Sorry, that came out — ”

“No, you’re right. I need someone to bring me back down to earth sometimes,” Keith says. He has a smile on his face, a little charmed considering Shiro’s insult. “But what I’m saying is that you have no ties and yet, you seem like the type to hold on to principle. To do the responsible thing. You have no fiancé, no kids, you probably rent a loft and don’t have to look after a house.” He’s right on every point. “If you left today to do exactly what you wanted, what would it be?”

Shiro struggles. It’s a question he can answer in a heartbeat; something he’s given so much time and research toward. But Adam’s distant voice and his own self-preservation keep stifling the words. Too dangerous. Too risky. But Shiro realizes that Keith, the bad boy with a heart of gold, won’t judge. 

Shiro measures his words carefully. “I would… I’d get my feet on the ground and write stories from places where other journalists are afraid to go. High risk countries. Far off places. Help bring attention to problems no one is looking at and be a conduit for the voices that never get heard. And not just, you know, be one of those privileged journalists who goes to some war torn place, writes some sensational piece, and ends up making things worse. I want to report on the right stuff. The right way. Like you said, make a difference. Do some good.” 

The pause that follows makes Shiro want to jump out of the plane. But when he glances sideways, Keith is grinning from ear to ear.

“You really are Superman, Mr. Kent,” Keith says. Shiro feels a lump form in his throat. The nickname is growing on him. “And here I thought you had a passion for writing fluff pieces on rich playboys.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve shown me your true colors, Keith. I’m not gonna forget them,” he says. And then he says something he doesn’t need to think twice about, “Off the record, you’d make a great CEO.”

Keith flushes a pretty pink.

Shiro needs to stop flirting. But when they’re alone, soaring miles above where anyone can judge them, he doesn’t really care. Now that Keith has opened up to him and Shiro can write the article, it’s probable that Keith will move on and forget all about Shiro once the job is done. So Shiro will enjoy Keith’s attention while he still can. He’ll let himself have that much.

“I guess we actually have something in common,” Keith says.

“What’s that?”

“In some way, we’re both a little attracted to danger and a little attracted to domestic life.”

Shiro shrugs. “Can’t have it both ways.”

“Who says?” he asks, so bold and fearless, “Nothing is ever perfect, but I think we can still have it all.”

Shiro likes the way Keith says ‘we’, but he knows Keith doesn’t mean it in _that_ way.

“Maybe,” Shiro says, eyes out on the blue horizon, “Maybe.”

Their ‘interview’ continues at a different pace from then on out. Sometimes Shiro asks pointed questions he wants the answers for, but most of the time they just talk. Shiro shares a lot about his own life: his writing triumphs, his hopes for the future, and his love of everything sci-fi. Keith weaves a picture of his strange childhood through a series of tangential stories that will never make the article’s final cut. But Shiro soaks in every single one. And each time Keith laughs — so bright and careless — Shiro falls just a little more. He lets himself fall. 

Because if there’s one thing he’s learned from Keith, it’s that a little risk and a little harmless self-indulgence feels pretty damn good.

Keith calls in for an extra hour of flight time but eventually, they do have to circle back to the airstrip and make their descent. As they touch down — the shaking of the little plane so much more jarring than a passenger plane, but twice as thrilling — Shiro can’t remember a day in recent history when he laughed or smiled so much. His face hurts and his body feels light and airy. 

Keith taxis the jet off the runway near a small Marmora Industries labelled hangar. Huddled in a circle of folding chairs, Allura, Pidge, and Kai are waiting for them. At the sight of the plane, Kai jumps up and waves his little arms with a glowing smile. He has a pair of aviator goggles stuck to his forehead, pushing his long bangs out in every direction. 

Keith parks the plane, opens the hatch, and practically skips to meet Kai on the tarmac. Shiro exits just in time to see Keith lift Kai into his arms and perch the little boy on his hip. Allura and Pidge approach them, smiling and talking. Their happiness is palpable and infectious.

Kai sees Shiro, excitedly bounces in his father’s arms, and leans in to whisper in Keith’s ear. Keith laughs.

“Hey, do you eat pancakes?” Keith calls across the concrete.

Shiro laughs. “Yeah, yeah I eat pancakes,” he answers.

Keith takes them all to a diner around the corner. Shiro doesn’t have to get pancakes, but he does to make Kai happy. As Kai plays with his food and the four adults talk and laugh over the clink of utensils and plates, Shiro envies the small community Keith has pulled in around him. Allura and Pidge spill enough embarrassing stories about Keith to fill the pages of a whole magazine and it is clear they are all much closer than Shiro initially thought. Intentional or not, Keith has created his own family. And for a short afternoon, Shiro gets to be a part of it. 

It isn’t perfect. The food is greasy, the diner’s floor is sticky from spilled soda, and Kai’s rowdiness combined with Pidge’s demonstration of a catapult with a spoon and some rolled up napkins annoys some other patrons. But when Keith’s knee knocks against his under the table, it’s everything Shiro wants from that moment.

And Shiro gets a taste of what having it all feels like.


	4. The Sixth 'Interview'

Shiro’s article about Keith is three-fourths finished and he has every intention of having it done before the week is out so he has less holiday stress. 

With the week before Christmas as the publishing date, tensions are high. Sending it to the printers early and holing up in his apartment to wait out his first Adam-less holiday in several years sounds like the best, least taxing way to finish out the year. So Shiro stays diligent. He writes his other assignments quickly and generally gives Keith’s article his full attention. He spends more time in his office than he does in his apartment to avoid the quiet. 

Shiro’s office is small. _The Garrison_ is a well respected publication and Shiro is a relatively respected writer (or was, as of late). But, unfortunately, Editor-In-Chief Sanda has had it out for him since he arrived because of his willingness to speak out, and her word is law at _The Garrison_. So Shiro gets a small, lower level office with a window that faces the brick wall of a marketing agency next door. All the same, he’s made it his own space with a few personal effects. 

He’s a minimalist at heart but the small shelf of his favorite books, a framed ‘travel’ poster to Pluto’s moon Kerberos, and a Marimo moss ball resting inside a water terrarium on his desk make it feel more like home. Just enough to make it feel comfortable and not enough to distract him.

Because the distractions often come on their own.

Shiro sits huddled at his corner desk, his neck starting to ache from his bad posture. He steadily taps at the keys on his laptop as the words come to him. But he feels his focus draining with each slight pause he takes. It’s barely noon but he can already feel the first caffeine crash weighing him down.

A knock at his open door breaks his attention entirely. 

Shiro looks over his shoulder, expecting Iverson or one of his colleagues. But standing in the open doorway are Keith and Kai. Wrapped in scarves, a light dusting of snow on their shoulders and heads, and a rosy pink shade on their noses and cheeks, they are certainly a wintery sight to behold. Shiro straightens in his chair and the warm smile on Keith’s face cures his tense shoulders. 

Every time they see one another, Keith seems to get more and more handsome. And Kai just gets cuter and cuter.

“Shiro!” Kai exclaims and reaches his little arms up to take a warm to-go cup from one of his father’s hands. 

It’s inevitable. Shiro breaks out with a case of absolute joy whenever he gets to see Kai. So when he asks, “What are you guys doing here?” He sounds overly dramatic.

But Shiro’s genuine enthusiasm always wins with the little boy. Wrapped in four layers of winter clothing, Kai waddles rather than walks over to Shiro, careful not to spill the hot drink in his hands. “We got you cocoa!”

“Cocoa?” Shiro asks, overexaggerating his excitement. He takes the cup before Kai can accidentally spill it all over his desk. The heated paper cup feels so pleasant in his hands. For added effect, he takes the stopper out and takes in a deep breath of steaming chocolate. Kai lifts to the tips of his toes. 

“Thank you very much, I’m going to enjoy this,” Shiro tells the little boy. And Kai, immediately self-assured, sings, “You’re welcome!”

“I asked Hunk to add a shot of espresso,” Keith adds.

“Thank god.” Now Shiro is actually, _truly_ , excited for the hot drink. He takes a sip, careful of the temperature. The festive, cinnamon infused cocoa immediately lifts his spirits. And the caffeine hits his brain. He looks up at Keith. “Thank you. This is very thoughtful.”

Keith, if Shiro is not mistaken, looks a little bashful. “Well, we were in the neighborhood.” Hunk’s cafe is not particularly close to _The Garrison_ , but Shiro doesn’t say anything about that. “And Kai won’t shut up about you,” he adds. Shiro bites the inside of his lip to keep from smiling too big. He’s at _work_ for god sakes.

Keith is nothing like the first impression he gave several weeks before. He is still prickly sometimes; still headstrong and hot-blooded. But Shiro likes those things about him now. They are part of the fire Shiro has come to admire and like so much. Since their impromptu flight, Keith has shown none of the impatience and coldness from their first meeting. He smiles more, laughs often, and seems to actually enjoy their sessions and calls. One time, Keith was early to the cafe and had coffee already waiting for Shiro. 

Shiro tells himself not to read too much into it. But when Keith spontaneously shows up to his office to bring a little holiday cheer, Shiro can’t help but consider the possibility. His pesky, ‘what if’ thoughts have been building for several weeks now.

“That so?” Shiro asks, amused.

But instead of focusing on Shiro, Kai has his eyes locked on the moss ball. He curls his little hands around the edge of the desk and peers into the glass terrarium with round eyes. “What is _that_?” he asks, in awe.

“That’s a Marimo,” Shiro answers. 

“What’s a Marimo?” Kai asks, with perfectly curious, child-like wonder.

“A Marimo is a moss ball. It’s a rare algae that grows in the shape of a sphere.”

“That’s very strange.”

“I suppose it is very strange.”

“But I like it,” Kai says, definitively, like it needed a stamp of approval.

“Well, good,” Shiro nods. “It’s name is Atlas.”

Kai scrunches up his nose and tilts his head. “You gave the moss a name?”

“Of course!” Shiro turns the terrarium thoughtfully, jostling the little green sphere inside. “Everything deserves a name.”

Kai’s lips purse together and Shiro can hear the gears in his head clicking. He nods, “I guess so.” With that, the boy starts wandering around the room. There isn’t much for him to look at, but he’s an independent sort who can occupy himself. If anything, Shiro knows his signature backpack is full of coloring instruments.

Keith jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “You’re probably in the middle of something. We should get going.”

Shiro stands, a little too eager to say, “No, stay.” He perches on the side of his desk, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. The ache in his neck is all but gone. “I needed a bit of a break. And you’re not bad company.”

Keith lifts his cup to his lips to hide a smile, leaning against the doorway. “Some people would beg to differ.”

“Well, some people only ever read the covers of tabloids in line at the grocery store,” Shiro argues.

Keith holds his arms close to his body and keeps the cup in front of his mouth. He isn’t good with compliments and Shiro is being particularly bold. But as much as Keith clams up, he also seems to enjoy the flirting. He’s probably used to it, Shiro figures. With a face, physique, and a rebel attitude like his, Keith is probably the center of attention in every crowded room. So how Shiro acts — only half consciously, mind — is probably no different from anyone else Keith encounters.

Keith shuffles. He looks like he’s going to say something, but holds himself back. After a few awkward moments, he nods at Shiro’s laptop. “How’s the writing going?”

“Pretty good, honestly,” Shiro answers, “Though I’m having some trouble with the end. Need to tie it all together and make a conclusion.”

“It’s not an essay,” Keith says.

“But everything needs a conclusion. And a biographical piece like this should end with looking toward the future. Where you’re going from here.”

Keith’s so far pleasant mood fades. He knows what Shiro is talking about.

On his part, Shiro has been trying to get Keith to talk about Marmora Industries and the CEO position for their past few sessions. In the end, the decision is Keith’s alone and Shiro isn’t being paid to convince him of anything. That’s high above his pay grade. But he does feel invested. The more he gets to know Keith, the more he understands why Krolia is so devoted to having Keith take over. He would make a great leader. Keith just refuses to see it.

The dark haired man dodges Shiro’s attempt. “You should drink your cocoa before it gets cold,” he says. 

An amused, knowing grin spreads across Shiro’s face. But he plucks his cup from the desk and drinks anyway. He will either have to be more savvy or more direct if he wants Keith to talk. 

The hot chocolate goes down smooth, warming his chest from the inside out. “Man, he really should sell that by the jug,” Shiro says with an amazed shake of his head. 

“I told Hunk that I would back him. Give him the capital up front,” Keith says, “But he told me, and I quote, ‘The secret ingredient that makes this cocoa so delicious, is love. You can’t stuff love in a jug and sell it.’”

“And what did you say?”

Keith shrugs. “I said he was right. That he’s kind of full of it, but probably right.”

Shiro has also been waiting for Keith’s hidden capitalistic streak to appear. But every time he tries to uncover it, Keith exposes nothing but good intentions. 

“You don’t think _anything_ can be bottled and sold?” Shiro asks, digging deeper.

“If there was a way to bottle the sky, I would have done it by now,” Keith says. Yet again, another poetic admission by Keith Kogane. “Not for profit, but for myself. So I could have that thrill anytime I wanted. But I think some things are better experienced in their natural form.”

Shiro doesn’t want to be impertinent. He doesn’t want to overstep the delicate balance they’ve created, or make Keith dislike him again, and he certainly doesn’t want to go making enemies in high places. But he has been dying to say something ever since their heart to heart in the plane. 

“Keith, I need you to help me understand why you don’t want to take over Krolia’s position,” Shiro says, point blank. Keith’s eyes widen just a little. “Because by all accounts, you are a perfect fit. Do you really not want it?”

Keith’s pause and the unsure shift of his eyes answers Shiro’s question almost immediately. His shoulders sink and his body language changes entirely. 

“No one wants me in charge of Marmora Industries, Shiro. I’m not — I’m not the leader type. Charisma might come naturally to you, but it really doesn’t for me,” he says. He passes his cup back and forth between his hands nervously. “The Board will eat me alive. Or I’ll end up saying something stupid that’ll put me in hot water.”

“Even I do that from time to time,” Shiro says. “But I doubt you actually would. Because you’re not stupid. You’ll probably just say something they don’t want to hear.”

Keith is quick to fire back, “In their eyes, there isn’t much of a difference.”

“Maybe you could change that,” Shiro retorts, just as certain.

The tone in the room has gone from lighthearted to serious. Keith presses his mouth into a thin line. He’s thinking — hard. He’s silently fighting his insecurities and doubts; all the things people told him he was over the years. 

“I don’t want to take away time from Kai. He’s five. He needs a lot of attention and care,” Keith argues.

Shiro glances over and Kai is systematically looking through each of the books on the lower shelves of Shiro’s bookcase. He thumbs through the pages for pictures and does perfectly fine amusing himself while they talk. His self-sufficiency doesn’t help Keith’s argument.

Shiro turns back to Keith. “What happened to having it all?” 

“I should have known that a writer was going to use my own words against me.”

They know each other well enough now that Keith recognizes when Shiro is waiting for him to expand on an answer. But he struggles more than usual this time. He fixes his eyes on a spot on Shiro’s desk and shrugs, “In the early days it was a very rag tag team. Even as it built up, there was still individual thought and creativity and respect for the work. But now? Now it’s — all about the money. The trustees. The investors. That’s such a hard thing to undo, Shiro.”

“But if you could do anything, what would you do?” Shiro asks, once again using Keith’s words against him.

And the black haired man shakes his head. “That’s — ”

“C’mon, Keith. What would you do with Marmora Industries?” Shiro pushes.

Keith looks downright terrified. Like the thought of power and responsibility scares him and thrills him at the same time. He turns the sleeve on his cup a few times. 

“I’d… I’d refocus goals back on science and education. Find ways to make our technology more energy efficient and more affordable. Make an entire fleet of Marmora jets dedicated to non-profit work. Create scholarships and paid apprenticeships. Partner with international organizations on projects that could enhance the global understanding of our universe. Instead of just keeping it all for ourselves. Instead of capitalizing on it,” he adds with a hint of bitterness.

Shiro raises his brows. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

Keith just shrugs. “But it won’t ever happen.” Pessimistic to the last.

Shiro switches his crossed legs and pulls in a deep breath, signalling the importance of what he is about to say. “Keith, I’m no business expert. But I do know that nothing ever changes unless someone makes it happen. And I also know that there is a shortage of good people in the world. Especially those with power and influence. You could do a lot of good.”

Keith swallows so hard his Adam's apple bobs. His eyes dart back and forth over Shiro’s features, no doubt searching for a lie. “My mom paid you to say that,” he counters.

The journalist cocks his head to the side. “I didn’t take your bribe, what makes you think I’d take hers?” he asks, cheekily. 

Keith looks like he wants to run away again. Never, in a million years, did Shiro think the impolite, severe man he met the day he walked into Marmora Industries could look so defenseless. Just like he intended, Shiro has chipped away at his shell piece by piece. He never expected to find something so soft and insecure underneath. 

_Getting over him would be so much easier if he wasn’t so wonderful_ , Shiro thinks to himself.

“Daddy, I’m hungry,” says Kai, appearing out of nowhere to tug at Keith’s sleeve. 

Keith’s transition into father mode is swift. “We were just at the cafe. You could’ve gotten something.”

“I wasn’t hungry then,” Kai reasons, “But now I am.”

Keith sighs and looks up at Shiro. “Kids.”

Shiro isn’t ready for Keith to leave; he hasn’t gotten everything he needs. But the Marmora heir probably needs some time to mull over their conversation. He straightens up and motions toward the hallway. “I’ll walk you to the elevator.”

Both Keith and Shiro move slow, meandering rather than walking toward the elevator down the Christmas decorated hall. Shiro himself isn’t much for decorating, but he likes the little rosemary trees, big red bows, and shiny garlands the _Garrison_ interns have used to cheer up the shared spaces.

On Shiro’s part, he’s trying to make their time together last just a little bit longer. He makes a light-hearted joke, kind of desperate to pull one last smile from Keith. He does and Keith bumps Shiro’s arm with his shoulder to boot. It feels like an extra prize for his efforts. Kai is already waiting beside the elevator doors, hitting the button every few seconds just to make sure it’s working. They come to a stop and wait. Shiro shoves his hands into his pockets because he doesn’t know what to do with them otherwise. 

“Thanks again for the cocoa,” he says.

“Anytime,” Keith says. His eyes glance down. “I’m sorry, your tie has been bothering me this whole time. Can I?”

“Oh, yeah sure.”

But Keith’s hands are already moving toward Shiro’s neck before he even gives permission. He feels the tie shift and tighten as Keith fixes the knot. Shiro’s ears go warm as Keith flattens his hand against his chest and pats once, indicating a job well done. His palm is surprisingly cool. “There.”

Shiro’s little “thanks” sounds like a squeak to his own ears.

With a _ding!_ the doors slide open. Kai waddles inside and Keith follows, turning to keep his eyes on Shiro. “See you around, Mr. Kent.”

Shiro knows he should set up their next interview. Or maybe just shoot his shot and ask Keith out for dinner. But Shiro is still reliving the feeling of Keith’s hand on his chest on repeat. So the best he can do is smile, and nod.

“Bye, Shiro!” Kai waves, oblivious.

The elevator doors close. Shiro lets go of the breath he’s been holding and rubs the back of his neck with both hands. Nearby, someone clears their throat.

Iverson’s office is at the end of a short hall and the editor stands in his doorway, looking his usual sharply dressed self with his fingers hooked on a mug. Iverson has a gruff, business-like presence about him, but Shiro knows he also has a pleasant sense of humor. “What’s goin’ on there, son?” he asks, a sparkle in his one eye. He takes a sip of his drink. 

Shiro shoves his hands into his pockets again. “Nothing.” The answer is too quick.

Iverson hums and shrugs, “Shame. Though, maybe that’s a good thing. Because I’d call that a real missed opportunity.” The editor points up. Shiro tilts his head.

Hanging on a red ribbon a foot or two above his head is a sprig of white berried mistletoe.


	5. The Last Interview

The small, boxed gift weighs heavily in Shiro’s pocket. But it also excites him. Keith is going to like it. 

Shiro walks with a skip in his step as he heads down a main city street, shoes crunching against the salted pavement. He pulls his long, double breasted coat close to his body and stuffs his hands further into his pockets. But despite the cold, he feels warm. Hopeful. A big weight has been lifted from his shoulders and he feels good. Somehow, finishing the article has made him dread his possibly lonely Christmas a little less. Shiro at least feels accomplished and satisfied as a writer, and that hasn’t happened in months. It would be lying to say Shiro isn’t at least a _little_ nervous — he hopes Keith doesn’t hate what he has written.

A cold winter has settled in on the city and so has the holiday. The latter perhaps less ‘settled’ than ‘exploded’. Keith has asked to meet in a particularly posh part of uptown where the yuletide themed storefronts are more a work of art than an advertisement of goods. Shiro passes by boutiques, cafes, and jewelry stores with windows covered in decorations, garlands, and gold. The streets are lined with strings of twinkling lights and a few humorously large candy canes suspended on strong fishing wire. 

But Keith seems like he’s had enough of meeting at cafes and restaurants. While Shiro is mildly disappointed — because when Keith and him sit across from each other in a booth Shiro can almost pretend it’s a date — their new meeting point is actually very charming.

Shiro turns on a street corner and moves away from the main road. The smaller offshoot is lined with ice-dusted, sprawling elm trees and limestone townhouses. He can tell it’s an expensive neighborhood just from the car models parked on the street. Shiro once dreamt of owning a beautiful, two-story brick and limestone home with Adam. It would have white-painted windows and black iron wrought gates. But ever since starting his talks with Keith, Shiro’s mindset has shifted. He no longer looks at the limestone houses with envy and disappointment. He sees them as a possible future still, but Adam doesn’t even cross his mind.

Two blocks down, just as Keith said, is a park. It’s a small, hedged half dome of a park carved out between the limestone houses. The ground is mostly snow and brick instead of grass but a jungle gym set, some monkey bars, and little open space are hard to find at the city center. From first glance, the public space seems completely empty. 

Then, Kai’s head pops up from the jungle gym’s second level. “Hi Shiro!” The little boy waves, fighting against the thick layers of his puffy jacket. Shiro waves back and opens the creaky gate to step inside.

“I was beginning to think you were gonna stand us up,” comes a familiar voice. Shiro turns and Keith appears beneath the slide, ducking to get around the bright yellow plastic. There’s nothing different about him. He has the same long lashes and ridiculous fingerless gloves that will never keep out the cold. Nothing should take Shiro by surprise. But he just can’t help it — Shiro’s knees go a little weak against his will. 

“No, I’d never do that to you,” Shiro says, echoing Keith’s sentiment from nearly a month prior. They’ve come a long way since then. Shiro’s cheekiness earns him a genuine smile.

Their little moment is cut short, however, by Kai; who is suddenly hanging upside down from a bar that is far too high for comfort. He swings, almost proudly, and his beanie goes flying off and lands in the snow. “Look what I can do!” he exclaims.

“Kai!”

Shiro and Keith move at the same time, quick to slip underneath the five-year-old and support him just in case. Kai is fairly athletic, but he also has his father’s thrill-seeking spirit. Being slightly taller than Keith, Shiro is able to get a better grip on the little boy’s torso and ease him off the bar. He intends on setting him solidly on the ground. But when Kai wriggles, wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck, and clings to him like a koala, Shiro finds himself stuck in Kai’s clutches. 

Shiro easily supports the little boy’s weight, wrapping a strong arm around his back and perching him on his hip like Keith sometimes does. It feels natural. It feels as if Shiro has done this before, but he knows he definitely hasn’t.

“That was dangerous, Kai,” Keith scolds.

“You need to be careful,” Shiro adds.

Kai’s nose is just inches from Shiro’s when he insists, “I can do it! See, I’m not hurt.”

Keith rests his hands on his hips. “That’s because Shiro is here to catch you.”

Shiro, in an attempt to help Keith’s parenting cause, feigns real worry. “Yeah, you had me scared there. If you fell and hit your head, that would make this the worst Christmas ever.”

Doubt and guilt pull down Kai’s smile. “Really?”

“Yeah, because then you’d never get the Christmas present I sent. You’d be in the hospital and we’d have to cancel Christmas,” Shiro says, winking at Keith with the eye Kai can’t see.

Kai’s little body jumps and his blue-gray eyes go wide in wonder. “A present?” He practically vibrates with energy, his little hands clutching at the lapels of Shiro’s jacket. “Where is it? Where is it?”

Shiro laughs, bright and clear. Every time Shiro experiences Kai’s playful energy, he feels just a little bit younger. “I sent it to your grandma’s work. I didn’t know your address, so you and your dad will have to pick it up from there. But you can’t open it until Christmas,” Shiro instructs.

Kai, in a show of childish dramatics, goes limp with disappointment in Shiro’s arms. But he’s not so ill mannered as to have a full blown tantrum. “Okay… But Christmas feels like it’s a _gazillion_ years away,” he says, borderlining a whine.

“A gazillion? Wow. You’re going to be an old man by the time you get my present,” Shiro plays along.

He glances at Keith, who has been noticeably quiet for a stretch, and finds the dark haired man staring. Shiro has never seen a softer smile on Keith’s face. His eyes dart back and forth between Shiro and his son, something akin to hope sparkling behind them. Shiro shifts his hold on Kai. “What?” he asks, nervously.

Keith shakes his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

It’s definitely something, but Shiro is too scared to pry for a better answer. Instead, he tells Kai, “Your dad and I have to talk some shop. Think you can keep out of trouble for a little bit?” 

Kai nods and Shiro carefully let’s him loose on the ground. He picks up his hat and goes running like a bat out of hell.

“God, I want energy like that again,” Shiro says, watching Kai zip around the playground without a care in the world.

“Tell me about it,” Keith grins.

Shiro hasn’t thought this far. He should have made a plan — at least take control of the situation. But after standing and watching Kai climb all over the jungle gym for a few minutes, it’s Keith who offers, “Want to sit down so you can ask those questions?”

They go to a bench on the far side of the park dome where they can see Kai wherever he roams. Shiro sits down first and there is plenty of room, so it’s not his fault when Keith’s thigh presses up against his. Their shoes knock together. It would be so easy for Shiro to sling his arm over the back of the bench and hook his hand on Keith’s shoulder. From an outsider’s perspective, they would probably look like doting parents to a rambunctious child.

Shiro breathes in the crisp winter air and let’s his shoulders relax. His arm rests comfortably against Keith’s. Shiro could get used to Saturdays like this. 

“He...has friends right?” Shiro asks, slightly concerned as Kai starts a game of pretend with himself. The little boy gives orders to someone imaginary about a situation that seems rather dire — their pirate ship is about to sink.

Keith makes a face. “Are you kidding? Kai’s social life is exhausting compared to mine,” he says, “He’s got friends from kindergarten _and_ taekwondo _and_ this science club for genius kids. I’m just the only parent stupid enough to let their kid run around in thirty degree weather.”

“I’m guessing you signed him up for taekwondo and your mom signed him up for the genius club.”

“Of course.”

Keith looks like he wants to say more, so Shiro waits. He’s gotten very good at reading the subtleties of Keith’s expressions. 

“I’m pretty sure you can tell, but I’m not qualified for this,” the dark haired man says. His eyes watch his son. “Flying through a rainstorm, figuring out how to land around the rubble of an earthquake, calculating how to put the wind in my favor — I can do that. But with Kai… I’m at a complete loss sometimes.”

“You’ve done really well, Keith. He’s a good kid.” Shiro means it.

Keith nods. “He is. But I think that’s mostly on him,” he says, “If I struggle with being responsible for _one_ kid, what makes you so sure that I’ll be any good at running a company?”

The turn in conversation comes as a surprise. It is clear that Keith has been thinking about what Shiro said. 

“Those really are two completely different things,” Shiro says. Then, “So, it’s not off the table?” 

Keith shrugs, conflicted. “I don’t know.”

For someone so miraculous and talented, Keith’s sense of self worth genuinely lacks. Shiro wonders how many times the world has disappointed Keith for him to be that way; for him to have such a strong shell and such a soft underbelly. Clearly, there are plenty of questions to which Shiro does not have the answers. 

Shiro crosses his legs and gazes up at the sky through leafless, scraggly branches. “The day we met — ”

“Please don’t remind me. I’d rather forget how much an ass I was...”

Shiro laughs, but continues anyway. “The day we met, Krolia told me you had a good heart. And that stuck with me. Because it had nothing to do with qualifications. It wasn’t that you went to the right school, that you were a pilot… it’s that you could get the company back on track. And I had no idea what she was talking about, really. But after getting to know you, I do. I agree with her, wholeheartedly.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro sees Keith’s jaw tense. He blinks a few times in quick succession.

“Keith, the choice is yours,” Shiro reminds him. “Not Krolia’s. Not the company’s. And certainly not mine. Whatever you choose, don’t let it be because of someone else. I —” He did not expect to be so vulnerable today, but it’s Christmas so he might as well. “ — I let someone dictate what I should want out of life for a long time. Don’t make my mistake.”

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. It’s just Keith digesting his thoughts and Shiro trying to read his mind. 

“You should charge people by the hour for talks like this,” Keith eventually says. His use of humor let’s Shiro know that he’s done with the topic and wants to move on. “You’d make a killing as a motivational speaker.”

Shiro chuckles. “I think I need another decade of life experience before I start to do that. But it’s not off the table.”

Across the park and on the other side of the iron fence, a couple walks by with a big dog. Kai goes running after them. And Shiro is surprised when the little boy politely asks if he can pet the dog, who looks twice as excited to meet Kai and sticks his nose through the bars immediately. Shiro indulges in a daydream. Keith, Kai, a dog, and a nice limestone townhouse. What a life that would be.

“So,” Keith begins and startles Shiro out of his reverie. Kai waves goodbye to the couple and the dog, and resumes his game of pretend. “What were the last questions you wanted to ask me?”

“Oh, well...hm, let me think…”

And Keith is sharp. So Shiro is only mildly surprised when he jumps to a conclusion fast. “...the article’s done, isn’t it?”

Shiro smiles, sheepish. “Yeah, the article is done.”

“So... what are you doing here?” There’s something encouraging in Keith’s tone.

“I was hoping to get some free pancakes again.”

“You poor, starving writer.”

Shiro laughs. He takes off his gloves and finds his hands are sweaty. He’s nervous. “Actually, I wanted to give you something,” he says, reaching into his pocket. “I couldn’t bring Kai’s present here. Marimo moss balls are very particular about temperature. I figured the Marmora Industries lobby would be a safe place for it until you picked it up.” A moss ball is a strange Christmas present for a five-year-old, but Kai seemed so interested in Shiro’s that it seemed like a good idea.

“He’s going to love it,” Keith says, “Kai won’t stop naming all the plants he sees. I blame that on you.”

“Well, now he’ll have his own to name. But this is for you.”

From his pocket, Shiro procures a small, red box tied with gold ribbon. The present box is too large to be jewelry and too small to be anything besides a trinket. Shiro passes the present to Keith and Keith seems wary of it. Like he isn’t used to receiving gifts.

“I — Shiro, I’m sorry, I don’t — I didn’t think — I should have gotten something — ” Keith flounders, noticeably flushing.

“Keith, it’s fine,” Shiro assures the young pilot. He turns his body, propping an elbow on the back of the bench and tucking a leg underneath his other so he can watch Keith as he opens the present. “This isn’t just a Christmas gift, it’s a thank you. For your cooperation. And for all the coffees you got me.”

Keith seems unconvinced. He turns the box in his hands, admiring it. “You want me to open it now?”

“Yes, now,” Shiro urges, almost giddy.

The care with which Keith opens his present almost drives Shiro crazy. It feels like it takes him forever to unbox and uncover the item nestled in tissue paper. It’s a tree ornament the size of Keith’s palm — a painstakingly detailed airplane painted in red, black, and white. He holds it up by the small, red loop and the plane rotates mid-air as if in flight. ‘Voltron K10’ is neatly printed on the tail. Shiro’s eyes dart back and forth from the ornament to Keith’s face.

Keith blinks. “This is...my plane.”

“Yeah,” Shiro nods. Suddenly, he begins to doubt his choice of present. It’s too personal. A customized ornament would be more appropriate to come from Kai or a friend, not Shiro. He should have gifted Keith something more generic. Something safer. “One of my co-workers does this as a side gig and when they came around asking for orders I thought — I really hope the details are right. All I had was the picture — ”

“It’s perfect,” Keith breathes. He turns the ornament over in his hands, cradling it with the utmost care and admiring every brush stroke and detail. “This is it. _Exactly._ Shiro this — ” He turns and their eyes meet. Keith’s eyes pull Shiro in like the night sky — that wonderful, mysterious expanse. 

“ — This is one of the nicest presents anyone has ever given me. Thank you.”

Shiro’s heart beats double time. His body runs warm, he’s afraid steam is coming off his face. It’s the response Shiro hoped for, but not one he was necessarily prepared to handle. “You’re welcome,” he manages to say.

Keith turns his body toward Shiro, more or less mimicking the writer’s position. And Shiro should back away, because Keith’s face is barely a foot away from his own. But he doesn’t want to. Keith looks down at the ornament in his hands and his pleasant joy melts into something rueful. “I guess this is it then, huh?”

It’s arrived. The moment Shiro has been dreading since he got in too deep for Keith. Goodbyes are never easy, but this one… this one is going to sting for a long time. Shiro knows it doesn’t have to end this way. He could easily suggest they continue their coffee dates or that they should be friends. But Shiro keeps reminding himself that Keith is far more brilliant and interesting than he is. That his best friends are an ambassador’s daughter and private jet engineer. And Shiro is… a glorified desk jockey who has normal friends, takes the bus, and is probably rebounding hard after a failed engagement. Probably. Maybe. 

Nevermind that Keith enchants Shiro in more than Adam ever did.

So, despite an infinite amount of words in the English language at his disposal, Shiro says, “Yeah.” 

Yet, Shiro can’t make himself move. Not when he’s frozen by Keith’s unwavering gaze. Not when there’s a sliver of a chance. And because Shiro’s intuition is sometimes stronger than his sense of reason, he waits for something to happen.

Keith inches in closer. 

A hand rests on his knee.

Shiro relaxes his shoulders.

Keith’s warm breath ghosts over his chin.

He closes his eyes; feels something brush against his nose.

“Daddy! Shiro! Look at — ”

Shiro’s eyes fly open and Keith is gone. In his place is the gift box, plane ornament sitting atop the wadded tissue. Keith is standing, facing away from Shiro with his eyes focused on Kai. Shiro wants to just sink into the bench and disappear. He adjusts his glasses, turns his face away so neither Keith or Kai can see the crisis in his eyes, and presses a palm hard against his mouth. 

“What was that, Kai? Were you gonna show us something?” Keith asks, voice uncharacteristically shaken.

“No,” Kai answers, quick.

“But you wanted us to look.”

“I didn’t mean — Go back to talking to Shiro,” he insists.

_Great._ Shiro has gone and made things awkward with Kai too. He gathers his wits about him and turns to give Kai a pleasant, but forced smile. The little boy is half hiding behind one of the many plastic walls of the jungle gym. He’s anxious, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“It’s okay, Kai,” Shiro says, standing like he can leave all his jumbled feelings on the bench behind him. “We were pretty much — ”

Shiro’s phone rings.

Saved by the bell. Or perhaps, a moment entirely ruined by the bell. Nevertheless, Shiro fumbles to answer it, stepping off the side with a wave to Keith and Kai.

“Shiro speaking,” he says, trying not to sound as frazzled outwardly as he feels on the inside.

“Shiro, you beautiful man, you’ve done it,” comes Iverson’s gruff, upbeat voice.

“Done what?”

“I just got off the phone with Dr. Kogane. She read your article and she’s over the moon. Says it’s exactly what she wanted,” he says. Shiro should be dancing. With Keith’s article in the bag, he’s back in _The Garrison’s_ good graces. He _is_ happy. Yet, he finds it hard to truly celebrate his victory when he’s just let a chance with Keith slip through his fingers.

“That’s great,” he offers.

“Next time I tell you that your writing is too personal or emotional, you just tell me to bugger off. I’m an old man and don’t know what I’m talking about. All that flowery stuff? Pure gold, Shiro. Never let me tell you otherwise. Can’t imagine it’s all true with a guy like Keith Kogane, but I can’t blame ya for _expanding_ a bit here and there.”

Shiro looks over and Keith is affectionately pulling Kai’s hat down over his ears. “It’s all true, Iverson. You can be sure of that,” Shiro says.

“That so?” A chair creaks on the other side. “Well if that’s the case, then he’s really all that and a bag of chips, huh? Explains what Dr. Kogane said.”

“About what?”

“Oh, somethin’ about potential matches with other CEOs or their prodigy kids. All the attention he’ll get because of the article. Issues of the rich and beautiful.”

Shiro’s stomach sinks. He suddenly feels so foolish. “Right, yeah,” he says so his silence isn’t too deafening.

“But hey, we’re talking about _your_ brilliance here,” Iverson insists, “Even Sanda was impressed. And that’s sayin’ something.”

“Think she’ll give me a better office?” Shiro doesn’t give a damn about the office.

“I don’t have a corner office for you, but I got a big lead that needs chasing and a plane ticket with your name on it.”

Shiro’s brain does a U-turn and he stops thinking about Keith for the moment. “What?”

“If your passport is valid and you can make it to the airport in, eh, an hour and a half that is.” Iverson is smiling, Shiro can hear it in his voice.

“You’re serious?”

“Serious as a heart attack. And you’ll be back before Christmas to boot.”

A bit of giddy laughter escapes Shiro. Keith and Kai turn their attention on him. But Shiro’s responsible streak and the seeds of apprehension sown by Adam keep him from immediately saying yes. Just like jumping in Keith’s plane and taking off at a moment’s notice, flying to some far away international destination for a big story without any preparation just seems so risky, so...thrilling. He doesn’t even know what the story is or where he’ll go. What an adventure. What an irresistible opportunity. Shiro’s eyes land on Keith.

_I can’t just do anything._

_I think that’s part of the problem. You’re holding yourself back._

“Yes. Yes, absolutely, I’ll take it,” Shiro says, “I’ll head right over.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Iverson laughs, big and hearty, “Might wanna keep a bag packed from here on out. Just in case this happens again.”

Shiro thinks his rapidly beating heart might jump out of his chest. This is everything he’s ever wanted. “Yessir.”

“I’ll send you your itinerary and more information via email. You can get familiar with the beat on your flight. And, uh, brush up on your Italian while you’re at it.”

“Yessir.”

Shiro ends the call. He feels as if the rest of his life has finally begun. He feels like he should take off running. But when Keith approaches with Kai in his arms, looking concerned and eager to hear the news, Shiro knows they have to make their official goodbyes.

“Is everything alright?” Keith asks.

“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s — everything’s great, actually. Your mom and my editors loved the article. They’re sending me on assignment today. I have to be on a plane to Italy in, like, an hour. Something big, he said.” Shiro doesn’t believe the words that are coming out of his own mouth. He wipes his hand across his forehead. “I can’t believe I just agreed to go around the world to a country I’ve never been to, for a story I know nothing about. That’s crazy. This is crazy.” Adam would have agreed.

But Keith… Keith grasps his arm, expression almost radiant with excitement. He’s practically bursting at the seams. “Shiro, that’s great! This is the kind of thing you were talking about; what you’ve always wanted to do!” The juxtaposition between their reactions is astounding.

And in that moment, Shiro wants to kiss Keith so badly. Adrenaline is starting to pump through his veins and it just seems like the right thing to do.

“You need to get out of here,” Keith insists, pushing his arm gently, almost playfully. “You have to get home, pack, and make it to the airport on time. Don’t just stand there!”

A little hand reaches out and grabs the lapel of Shiro’s coat before he can backpedal too far. “Do you have to go, Shiro?” Kai asks, mildly distressed. 

“I’ll be back,” he says, taking Kai’s hand and holding it between his own. “It’s just a trip. We’ll see each other soon. Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Keith nods. He takes Kai’s hand from Shiro. The look in his eyes makes Shiro feel like he can do anything. “Now go, be great.”

Shiro is firing on so many cylinders that he might just land in Italy and get Keith’s words tattooed over his heart. Just to prove he’s really gone off the deep end in more ways than one.

He backpedals toward the iron gate and his feet feel like they barely touch the ground. “Thank you, Keith. Kai.” 

Shiro doesn’t kiss Keith in the end. He’s too overwhelmed by his personal dreams becoming reality and too weak to do anything but what Keith tells him to. So he goes. He jogs across the playground, flings the gate open, and practically stumbles into the street when he slips on ice. As luck would have it, a taxi is headed his way. Shiro flags down the driver, tells him his address through the passenger window, and quickly moves to open the back door.

“How does it end?” Keith’s voice calls.

Shiro looks up, one leg already inside the taxi. Keith puts Kai down and runs up to the gate.

“What?”

“My article. What’s the conclusion? Since I haven’t told you what I’m going to do.”

Shiro smiles. “Open ended. But very, very hopeful,” he answers. 

Then he slides in the back seat, closes the door, and drives away. He watches Keith through the back window until he’s out of sight.

While he’s in the taxi, Shiro focuses on the email Iverson sent him and plans the next few hours. He tells the taxi driver to wait when they arrive at his apartment. He packs in five minutes. The airport is madness. He just barely makes his flight. He spends the first few hours pouring over the pages of information Iverson gave him about his story.

And then, somewhere over the Atlantic, when the cabin is dark and everyone around him is sleeping, Shiro thinks about Keith. He closes his eyes and reimagines the awe in Keith’s eyes when he opened Shiro’s gift, the way Keith’s hand pressed as he urged Shiro to go take the reins on his dreams, and… the almost-kiss. He replays that moment in his mind on repeat — deconstructs and dissects it — until Shiro convinces himself that it didn’t really happen.

Because their time together is over. Keith will move on to more interesting people and Shiro will move on to more interesting stories. Though Shiro imagines it’s quite possible that Keith Kogane’s story will remain his personal favorite for a long, long time.


	6. The New Beginning

A week after Shiro’s article hits the shelves, Marmora Industries’ stocks skyrocket. 

Keith’s face starts popping up on Shiro’s social media feeds. This time, it’s good publicity. It’s people coming forward with stories from his humanitarian work: owners of rescue animals, patients who got their life-saving surgeries because of him, and people he brought supplies to during times of crisis. Shiro understands why Krolia was so adamant to have the article out near Christmastime. People seem inclined to stories of goodwill and forgiveness. 

They like Keith’s honesty, the tragedy of his lost partner, and they admire how he is raising Kai on his own. They like his opposition to corporate greed and his push for education and scientific advancements. Direct quotes from Shiro’s article appear in places magazine’s almost never reach and Shiro figures Krolia must have hired a social media master to push his work. Within days, Keith Kogane has gone from bad boy of days past to a peoples’ hero.

Despite all the attention he must be getting, Keith finds the time to text Shiro. He responds politely, even sends a selfie from Saint Mark’s Basilica at Kai’s request. But Shiro keeps their interactions short. At least, he tries. Because there are already pictures of Keith and a young woman named Romelle, a rising star in Marmora’s astrophysics division, circulating the internet. They aren’t definitive or damning photos. Just two people getting coffee. But still — Shiro is determined not to play the fool.

When he lands back in the city, triumphant in bagging his first big, international story, Shiro’s initial impulse is to call Keith and tell him about his success. Instead, he sends a professional thank you text and tells him to be on the lookout for a _Garrison_ article with his name on it.

Keith asks to meet for coffee. Shiro tells him he has too many assignments to finish before the New Year’s edition.

He offers to bring coffee to Shiro. Shiro never responds to the text. Which makes him feel a jerk and an ingrate.

A few days before the holiday, Iverson barges into Shiro’s office with his usual subtlety and asks, “Do you own a tux?”

Shiro frowns. “No.”

“Well, either buy one or rent one because you’re my date tonight.”

Shiro sighs, deeply. “Iverson, I’ve got a pile of things to get through and I can’t — ”

“This is an assignment, Shirogane. We need two representatives to make an appearance at an event tonight — you know, strut our stuff, drink a little champagne, and remind our corporate sponsors that we still care about them. Kinkade just came down with the flu. So you’re up to bat.”

Shiro can’t come up with a better excuse on the fly, so he finds himself ensnared. 

A tuxedo is not an easy thing to acquire on short notice, but Shiro manages to find one very chic shop that has his size. It costs a pretty penny, but it’s on the magazine’s dime so Shiro doesn’t sweat it too much. And for what the suit does for his figure, Shiro understands why it’s so expensive. 

The sleek, black and white tux with a satin shawl lapel makes him feel much more important than he is. It complements his broad shoulders and trim waist. The slim tuxedo stripe running down each pant leg makes him appear even taller. With the whole ensemble, Shiro’s glasses seem less bookish — more sophisticated.

So Shiro’s confidence is sky high when he walks through the doors of an upscale hotel, blending in just fine with the similarly dressed, but undoubtedly much richer attendees who have also just arrived. As he passes by a sparkling indoor fountain and crosses the marble floor toward the open hotel ballroom, Shiro thinks he might actually have a good time. Iverson isn’t the worst company and it’s been an age since he’s done anything special on a Friday night. Maybe he’ll even get a little tipsy and have the courage to text Keith.

Sirens go off in Shiro’s head when he spots Iverson, dressed in a particularly festive, green tartan jacket and standing next to a large, holographic sign:

_Marmora Industries Private Event  
20th Annual Holiday Party_

Shiro’s eyes dart around, looking for anyone he recognizes in the gathering crowd. Keith in particular. He hurries to Iverson’s side. “You didn’t say this was the Marmora Christmas party,” he says, hushed.

Iverson stuffs his hands in his pockets and feigns surprise. “That gonna be a problem?”

Shiro quickly weighs his options. Iverson might pull an assignment from him if he backs out like a coward. Especially if his excuse is personal. If he stays, he risks an awkward reunion with Keith. But Shiro also considers the fact that Keith might not even be in attendance. Big, fancy galas aren’t really his scene. Still, it’s a gamble.

“...No. Not a problem at all,” Shiro swallows.

“Good. Now let’s grab some strong drinks before the bar line gets too full.”

With clean dark blue tablecloths and polished settings that look like they’re carved from ice, the room feels like a Christmas party from the future. Almost every decoration is a hologram, including the glowing ranunculus bouquets in the center of each table and ‘icicles’ that ‘hang’ from the ceiling. Shiro is most impressed by the large, snow white, hologram trees. They stand at different heights, slowly spinning to display the geometric ornaments dangling from their branches. Shiro passes his hand through a bough. The needles shimmer at the interruption but he feels nothing but air. Shiro know’s it’s science, but it feels like magic.

Shiro finds their table and keeps a low profile. The room is buzzing with hundreds of people, so the likelihood of catching the eye of anyone is low. Yet somehow, someone finds them.

“I owe you a great debt, Mr. Shirogane,” a steady voice says. Shiro turns to find Krolia Kogane, arms crossed, standing at his shoulder. She is ageless in the devastating number she’s chosen to wear for the party. Yet, she seems unaware — or at least unaffected — by the many heads who turn her way. Like mother, like son. “Your article exceeded my expectations.”

Iverson goes noticeably still.

Shiro nods his head, feeling particularly scrutinized by Krolia’s sharp gaze. “Thank you, Dr. Kogane.”

“I’m glad you could come tonight. I am sure Keith will be glad as well.”

_Damn._

“He’s here?”

“Yes, somewhere. Perhaps hiding,” she says, “Your interviewing sessions had a profound impact on him, Mr. Shirogane. In more ways than one. I hope you know that.” Somehow, her words almost sound like a threat.

“They had an effect on me too. Much more than I expected,” he says in a flash of honesty. Krolia Kogane seems like the kind of woman who can smell lies.

She nods, curtly. Her eyes become distracted with something on the other side of the room. “Excuse me. Coran, my master of ceremonies, is frantically waving his arms at me,” she says with an air of mild frustration. “I hope to see more of you in the future, Shiro. Certainly more of your work.” Krolia nods politely to both of them and quickly walks away. 

Iverson whistles low. “She can ignore me any day of the week.”

Shiro feels set up.

“Kinkade was never going to come, was he?” he asks.

“Nope,” the editor smiles. He leans heavily against the table. “Do you know why I invited you to this?”

“Because I wrote the article and you have to?”

“No, because of what you wrote _in_ the article. Not every day a writer gives me a first draft waxing poetic about the subject’s slender hands and long eyelashes, makin’ such a fuss ‘bout how _wonderful_ they are.”

Shiro flushes. “I did not.”

“You absolutely _did_ ,” Iverson insists, jabbing his finger against the table. Shiro hides his face in his hands. “I saw the rough drafts, Shiro. Got all twitter-pated for Keith myself just reading about all his good deeds and his perfect cheekbones. And now you’re goin’ all shy and avoiding him. You got goo-goo eyes whenever you see him. I got _one_ eyeball, and even I can see it.”

He’s right, of course, but Shiro has spent the last week convincing himself to forget about Keith Kogane. So he gives an excuse he parroted to himself over and over: “Keith’s got more important things to do these days than hang around a guy like me.”

Iverson throws his hands in the air. “Ugh, youth is wasted on the young.”

Shiro’s legs are restless. He downs the rest of his drink and stands. “I’m going to step out for a second.”

“If you ditch me, I’m never lettin’ you hear the end of it,” Iverson warns.

Shiro knows he can’t run away, not entirely. But he can’t just sit and stew in all of his complicated feelings, waiting to be found out. He just needs a place where the laughing crowds and holiday music aren’t so loud to drown out his own thoughts. His feet carry him out of the ballroom and to a quieter, side hallway in the hotel. He can still say he’s part of the party, as the hall is lined with tall cocktail tables meant for overflow. Still, the area is empty.

Shiro pulls out his cellphone and finds Keith’s name among the people he recently messaged. If he texts Keith it will be less awkward when they do accidentally meet. It’ll save him from just a little bit of embarrassment and guilt. 

But just as he starts to type, Shiro feels something tap his foot. 

He pauses, confused, and reaches down to lift the white tablecloth.

“Kai?”

The little boy is huddled beneath the table, his adorable gray suit crumpled and creased by his folded limbs and carelessness. His unbridled joy quickly overshadows the panic of being caught. The feeling is quite mutual.

“Shiro!” he exclaims and scrambles out from his hiding place. Shiro kneels and short, but eager arms wrap around his neck. He hugs the boy in return and the anxiety sitting on his shoulders eases away. When Kai pulls back, he levels Shiro with a cute, perplexed crinkle of his nose.

“Daddy said you weren’t coming?” Kai says.

“I didn’t know I was coming until this afternoon, myself,” Shiro answers. “What were you doing down there?”

“Hiding from Miss Allura. I’m tired of sitting and listening to adults talk about boring stuff.” Kai perks up. “Can I sit at your table?”

“Maybe,” Shiro grins, “If there’s room.”

The little boy cocks his head to the side. “But why are _you_ out here, Shiro?”

“I’m — To be honest, I’m hiding too.”

“From what?”

He shouldn’t unload all his personal problems on a kid. “Well — I — I think I just needed some space to think.”

Kai goes quiet, watching Shiro as he passes his phone from one hand to the other. Then, he takes Shiro’s hand. “There’s a thinking place. I’ll show you. I’ll show you,” he insists.

Even though they should absolutely go back into the ballroom and find Allura, Shiro has very little willpower against Kai. And anyplace further away from the Christmas party is welcome. So he goes. Kai pulls him around a corner and down another short hall. For every two steps he takes, Shiro makes half a stride. Kai stops and points to an open doorway.

“Over there,” he says.

Shiro should question why Kai doesn’t take him directly into the room or go in with him. But Kai has never given him any reason for doubt, so Shiro let’s go of Kai’s hand and moves the rest of the way without hesitation.

“Thanks, Kai.”

The open side door leads into a small, empty cafe. With its more intimate seating arrangements and an empty buffet table off to the side, Shiro imagines it’s used for guest breakfasts. Like everywhere else, the room is well decorated for the holiday with poinsettias, lights, and well-placed wreaths. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the fifty foot Christmas tree in the hotel’s courtyard. That would be the most dazzling sight in the room, had it not been for Keith.

He stands near the windows, a vision in a deep maroon tuxedo. With his hair pulled back in a half bun, he concentrates on some papers in hand. The stylish, powerful look suits him. The firm lines of his shoulders are illuminated by the warm lanterns above and the natural red undertone of his hair complements the color of his suit. Keith is so stunning, Shiro forgets to breathe. He forgets to run away — forgets that he shouldn’t stare.

And then it dawns on him: 

He’s been duped by a five-year-old.

Keith looks up. Shiro swears he hears the other man gasp. “Shiro?”

“Hey, Keith.”

The dark haired pretty boy is all smiles and every iota of Shiro’s hard won resolve gets washed away in one fell swoop. “You came,” he says with a kind of relief.

“Yeah, I — Yeah.” He doesn’t want to dampen Keith’s spirits by explaining the maddening series of events that brought him there, so he lets the issue lie.

A chasm stands between them, but neither of them make a move to close it.

“You look very handsome,” Shiro says. A safe compliment.

Keith shuffles and smooths a hand down the front of his jacket. “Thank you. So do you.”

Before their last meeting, Keith and Shiro’s conversations had felt so natural. Far beyond the relationship of journalist and subject, they started to feel like friends. At _least_ friends. But now that casual comfort seems lost, corked up by Shiro’s own efforts. It was much easier for Shiro to distance himself when he didn’t have to look Keith in the eye.

Shiro jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “I should go. You look busy — ”

Keith takes a halting stepforward. “No, please. Stay. I could use your help. Since you’re a writer.” 

Because Shiro is caught off guard and has no self control, Keith’s plea doesn’t just stop him, it draws Shiro in. He crosses the room and stops close enough that he can see the twinkling, multicolored lights reflected in Keith’s eyes. The dark haired man fiddles with the papers in hand. “This… I guess this is an acceptance speech.”

Shiro knows what for, but he waits to hear the answer from Keith’s mouth.

“I’m going to take it,” Keith resolves, “The position. That’s why I’m here. My mom is going to make the announcement tonight.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Keith.” Shiro wants to hug him — to press out whatever bit of self doubt left in Keith’s body. He gives Keith’s shoulder a quick squeeze instead. “You’re going to do great. There’s no doubt in my mind about that.”

Keith seems to regard Shiro’s gesture with mild disappointment. “Thanks.”

“Wow, I’m in the presence of the future CEO of Marmora Industries.”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s a process. I’ll essentially be Mom’s apprentice for two years. Then, yeah, I’ll be official.”

“Even with two years prep, they won’t be ready for you.”

“No,” Keith laughs, “No one ever is.”

Shiro stretches out his hand. “Let me take a look at that speech.”

Keith tentatively gives him the papers. Shiro doesn’t think he’ll be able to focus on reading when Keith is watching him like a hawk. But in the end it doesn’t matter, because Shiro only gets two sentences in.

“Did I — Did I upset you?” Keith suddenly asks. 

A lump forms in Shiro’s throat.

“Because you’ve been avoiding me. I mean, you’ve been on another continent but — still. On this continent you’ve been avoiding me too.”

“Keith — ”

“That day at the park. If I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry — ”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Then what?” Keith’s attitude springs forward; it’s that fire that Shiro has grown to like so much. “What is _it_? I just want an explanation. Because I thought — I was so sure that — ” 

“I like you, Keith,” Shiro blurts out. It feels good to have his feelings out in the open, but it does feel as if someone else took hold of his body for that split second. “I like you a lot.”

It feels like all the air has been sucked from the room. Shiro forgets to breathe for a few seconds.

Keith’s eyes go wide. “But?”

“But look at _you_ ,” Shiro says, reverence in his voice, “Look at _this_.” He shakes the papers in his hand. “You are beautiful. And talented. And kind. _And_ you’re about to be the head of one of the most influential organizations in the world. You are one in a million. And you should be with someone who can soar as high as you can.”

Shiro expects Keith to back down, to maybe begrudgingly agree. Because he seems to understand the gravity of his future. Instead, Keith looks _furious_. He practically rips the folded speech from Shiro’s hands. He pushes into Shiro’s space and jabs a finger against his chest, glaring up at him with a fire that is four fold stronger than before. 

“And what are you? Not beautiful? Not talented or kind? Don’t you _ever_ insult yourself like that again.”

Keith doesn’t let Shiro respond.

“What kind of — I have every right to _punch_ you,” he says, launching into a rampage, “You tell me that I shouldn’t be making decisions based on what _other_ people think, then you turn around and make assumptions about what’s best for me. The nerve you have, Takashi Shirogane! All high and mighty and level headed until it has something to do with you! And you — you make me think that I’m _crazy_ when I’m trying to text you and — ”

Keith’s tirade is shocking, but not wholly unjustified. Because Shiro’s hypocrisy is plain as day. But he was trying not to think about it so hard. Unfortunately, Shiro’s good intentions have come back to bite him.

“ — Pretty much ghosting me while _traipsing_ around Italy meeting god knows how many pretty European guys who are way more charming and graceful than I am. Leaving me in the dust, trying to figure out what the hell _happened_ that day at the park. Ugh! You are so — so — ”

And Shiro realizes, despite Keith’s frenzy, that this is his way of expressing relief. It’s a few weeks of pent up frustrations all coming out at once.

“ — Maddening! Dragging me around the city. Making me answer questions I never wanted to think about. Being so perfect with Kai. Giving me pep talks and good advice I never wanted to hear. And then the article! That _damn_ article. All that stuff you wrote about me — Oh my god, the way it made me feel — ”

“Keith, I never meant to — ” Shiro asks, his voice small in the shadow of Keith’s storm.

The dark haired man looks up at Shiro with eyes that burn right into his soul. “I’m _crazy_ about you, Shiro,” he concedes, almost running out of breath. 

Shiro already knows this. Deep down, underneath all his steel coated responsibility and golden professionalism, he knows what almost happened that day at the park. Why Keith visited his office unprompted. Why he kept trying to contact Shiro. But it’s nice to hear it come from Keith’s lips, definitively. 

Shiro doesn’t realize he’s grinning like a fool until Keith snaps, “Stop smiling, I’m trying to be mad at you.”

“Sorry.” Shiro makes an effort to get rid of his outward joy, but only half succeeds. He hopes Keith is inclined to forgive him.

The silence that follows has them both fidgeting. Keith looks down and nervously refolds the papers in his hands. Shiro adjusts his glasses. They stand on the precipice of something — two uncertain, but eager men with two different flavors of heartbreak behind them. Shiro knows it will be miraculous. A life with Keith Kogane in it couldn’t be anything but. Should they fail, Shiro knows the heartache will be just as earth shattering. 

But what’s life without a little risk? Whomsoever took to the sky knowing, without a doubt, that they could fly? There are only so many safe and sure calculations one can make. The rest is just nerve.

So Shiro takes a page from Keith’s book and summons up his courage. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “I should have communicated better with you.”

“Very responsible and respectful of you to say,” Keith says, anger simmered down to a mild frustration. 

“If you’re going to be around me for any period of time, that’s a lot of what you’re going to get.”

“I certainly hope not _all_ the time.”

Shiro flushes. “Easy there. What kind of guy do you take me for?” 

“The best kind,” Keith says.

Shiro knows he probably doesn’t deserve Keith’s swift forgiveness, but he’ll take it. He swallows the lump in his throat and pushes down those giddy, teenager-like jitters. “You know, for the record, I didn’t meet anyone as charming as you when I was away. Not even close.”

“You don’t have to butter me up, I already like you.” 

“Can’t hurt. Especially after I messed up.”

“You didn’t mess up that bad. I just…” Keith’s shoulders drop, a sign that he’s likely to turn in on himself. “I just really wanted to talk to you about everything. About what you wrote and your trip. About tonight. If I had you in my corner, I’d be less nervous.”

“Keith, I’ll always be in your corner,” Shiro swears. In his most bold move yet, he reaches to take one of Keith’s hands. With a palm cool to the touch, Keith gently squeezes Shiro’s hand in return. His fingers seem so delicate in comparison to Shiro’s; not any less masculine, just nimble and skilled. 

“See, you say things like that I just — sort of lose my train of thought and — ” Keith stammers and looks toward the ceiling, like he’s searching for a thought somewhere in the back of his mind. Or maybe the novel affection from Shiro makes him nervous. Keith falters. “Oh.”

Shiro follows Keith’s gaze. 

A small cluster of mistletoe hangs suspended over their heads on a lantern. Shiro should have seen that coming. He had scanned the room when he walked in. He is over six feet tall and the mistletoe is dangling just a foot above his head. And yet the universe gives him one more pleasant surprise. The sight sets Shiro’s whole body ablaze.

_Third time’s the charm, I guess._

Shiro inches closer. “What was that about losing your train of thought?”

“Shiro, please.” Keith rests a hand on his chest and Shiro thinks he might just explode.

He’s waiting for something to ruin this moment; for someone to walk in and steal it away from them. He realizes the longer Shiro looks into Keith’s eyes, the higher the risk of an interruption. But he also wants to get it right. He hasn’t kissed anyone in so long, Shiro isn’t sure he remembers how. 

So he proceeds with caution, taking his time to curve a hand around the small of Keith’s back and to cradle Keith’s jaw in the other. Shiro leans down and their noses brush. Keith’s pretty eyes flutter closed. He clutches the lapels of Shiro’s jacket. And when their lips finally do touch, it’s so soft Shiro nearly falls to pieces. 

But a featherlike glance isn’t enough for Keith. 

He pulls Shiro in, gentle but firm, and presses their mouths together a little harder. A little heavier and passionate. With a guy like Keith, Shiro expects ample teeth and tongue. But his kissing is surprisingly romantic; the kind of tenderness that has Shiro’s head spinning. 

“I think,” Shiro murmurs when they finally part, “I think that may have been worth the wait.”

“Speak for yourself, Mr. Kent,” Keith grins against his lips. “I never want to wait for anything. If you’re going to hang around me, that’s something you ought to know.”

“That you’re impatient and impulsive? I already knew that.”

Keith’s laughter sparkles like champagne and Shiro could get drunk if he isn’t careful.

“And you’ll like me still?” Keith asks when he catches his breath.

“Yeah. Definitely.”

It’s as if they skipped to the hard part to begin with and have come back to the fun, easy part now. They know each other’s baggage. And if there’s any more of it hidden away, they can deal with it when they’re good and ready. Shiro might have some residual insecurities about being with one of the most brilliant bad boys on the planet, but he’s headed into whatever this is with both eyes wide open. He anticipates the challenges that will arise and Shiro is ready for a little more excitement in his life. He also knows, and is very delighted, that Keith is part of a package deal.

A noise near the open doorway catches their attention. Keith unlatches from Shiro, but it isn’t a frantic, embarrassed bolt like the time at the park. 

“Kai?” Keith calls and Shiro’s eyes go wide. “Kai, I know that’s you. Come out now.”

It takes a few moments, but Kai’s fingers appear on the open door frame. He leans in view ever so slightly, hesitant to come into the room. His gray-blue eyes seem almost twice their usual size. Shiro prays he didn’t see anything that made him uncomfortable.

“What are you doing over there?” Keith asks.

Kai’s eyes dart across several points on the floor. “I — well — I just — Are you and Shiro…? Okay? Or… are you still mad at him?”

Shiro cracks a smile.

“No, I’m not mad at him anymore,” Keith says, shaking his head. “We’ve talked things out. In fact, I think I’ve decided that I…” Keith takes Shiro’s hand and squeezes tight. “I think I’ve decided I really like him. If that’s okay with you, that is.”

Kai’s approval is necessary and the little boy’s initial shock terrifies Shiro. He doesn’t want Kai to turn on him and be seen as a competitor for Keith’s attention. And Shiro certainly doesn’t want Keith to ever choose between him and his son. Luckily, it appears he won’t have to. Kai steps into the open doorway, his eyebrows lifted high on his forehead.

“Really?” The little boy asks, borderline emotional.

“Really,” Keith affirms.

Kai flies across the room. Shiro thinks he’s headed for his father, but at the last yard he changes course. For someone so small, Kai wraps his arms around one of Shiro’s legs with a frightening amount of strength, looking up at him with a happiness that could melt even the coldest of hearts. Shiro reaches down and lovingly pats his head. Shiro watches in confusion as trembling lips and glossy eyes overtake Kai’s jubilant expression. Children are so changeable.

“Oh, Kai, are you okay?”

Kai detaches from Shiro and quickly wipes his sleeve across his face, stubbornly trying to hide his emotions. “Yeah — ” he sniffles, “ — I’m fine.”

“He’s gotten very invested in you,” Keith says.

Shiro feels so happy he could die. He really could.

“Grandma told me to come get you,” Kai says to Keith, trying his very best to swallow down whatever is threatening to bubble over. Apparently, a strong sense of pride runs in the Kogane family. “She says the thing needs to start.”

Keith noticeably tenses. He sucks in a deep breath. Shiro squeezes his hand. 

“You can do this,” he says.

“Yeah,” the dark haired man nods, “Yes. Okay. Let’s go.”

 _To the beginning of the rest of our lives_ , Shiro thinks. He doesn’t believe in perfect anymore, not like he used to. But he still believes in happy endings. Shiro sees one on the horizon. It’s far, far away and the shape of it is still unknown. But it’s there. And Keith and Kai are a part of it somehow. 

Bouncing back with youthful energy, Kai skips ahead while Keith and Shiro trail behind, fingers laced together. 

“So. You...read the article?” Shiro asks.

Keith looks at him with an almost dumbfounded smile. “Of course I did.”

“What did you think?”

“Even _I_ wanted me to be CEO after I read it.”

“Persuasive?”

“Very.”

“Was it accurate?”

“Mostly. Couldn’t believe you were talking about me through most of it.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, soft and genuine, “I liked it a lot.”


	7. Epilogue: The Man Who Would Bottle The Sky

An excerpt from “The Man Who Would Bottle the Sky”  
Written by Takashi Shirogane  
For _The Garrison_ , Volume 125

“Wings are the ultimate freedom,” says the man with a fearless grin. His sharp, violet eyes look back and forth from his console and the bright, blue sky; alert and focused even as he answers my questions. As I sit in the co-pilot’s chair, my life in his infinitely talented hands, it dawns on me that I — like many people — may have judged him prematurely.

He acknowledges the privilege that comes from his family name, that not everyone has the same abilities to heedlessly take to the sky and escape as he can. But as Mr. Kogane shares stories of his daring flights around the world and his several years of humanitarian work, it becomes increasingly clear that he would have found a way to fly one way or another. Rich or poor, there isn’t a man alive who loves the open sky more than Keith Kogane. 

But not every tale is pretty and romantic. His voice is weighed down as he tells me of the sick or wounded he flew to hospitals when roads were not an option for them.

“I only ever meet them once,” he says, “But they all stick with me. I remember them all. Their names are all in my logbook. And, when I could, I liked to put a fact about them next to their name. Something that had nothing to do with them being sick. I never know if they actually make it in the end. So in my mind, they all have.” Later, he shows me his old logbook and I find all this to be true.

He is not very gesticulative, but his eyes brighten with each good tale. Yet, a humbleness comes from the sincerity and empathy with which he regales his stories. Not once did he appear to brag or boast of his accomplishments. Despite his age, he already seems to have lived two full lifetimes of adventures, happiness, and heartbreak. I felt that he wanted me to glean a lesson from his stories — something about life or love or taking chances. 

Perhaps I did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out this stunning fic art from fellow collaborator @A_no_ba: [here](https://twitter.com/A_no_ba/status/1354142497245712384)!!
> 
> The tropes for this fic were single parent, deadlines, interrupted kiss, broken engagement, and Oh Hey, Mistletoe!
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/trogmonologue) || [tumblr](https://troglodytemonologue.tumblr.com/)


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